The Assassin's Dentures
by StarkContrastStartles
Summary: After a tragedy, the team disbands, unable to work together anymore. Twenty-five years later, each scarred by the trials of life, a potential tragedy recalls them to DC where they attempt to rebuild the old friendship that died during their separation.
1. Prologue

**I thought that I'd give something a little more challenging a go. Instead of a lateral timeline, I'm going to go for a more sophisticated structure.**

**And, if you are reading my other story currently going, this isn't going to override that one. I think that I can keep two stories going at once.**

**Summary: **After a tragedy, the team disbands and each makes their own way in the world. They lose contact with the people they once trusted with their lives and move on to find that the world is just as dark as they had feared. They meet again, in a twisted form of reunion; corrupted by secrets, scarred by pain, gnarled by age, haunted by skeletons and shattered by grief. Forced to work together once more, long buried pains are revealed and regrets are given a chance to been undone, against the back drop of a sinister plot.

**Prologue**

Jimmy Palmer watched the second, more awkward, bout of goodbyes. Abby had already done hers, throwing her arms around each in turn and burying her face in their black clad shoulders, clinging to them like a limpet fastens on to its rock. He had watched her walk away, rubbing her damp cheeks vigorously.

He leaned against the stone and, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, surveyed the group. Nobody was making eye contact; the ground was much easier to look at than their colleagues' faces. The gravel could not remind them of what they had lost and what that loss meant.

'So, uh, I guess this is it,' McGee said, drumming up a weak smile.

Tony nodded wordlessly. It wasn't that he didn't want to say anything; he just couldn't think of anything appropriate.

'I'm going to miss you,' McGee tried again, desperate to at least have a proper goodbye.

After nine years as a team, they definitely deserved that much. He had worked with Tony for almost eleven years. Surely, surely they could come up with words to express that time spent relying on each other.

'Yeah,' Tony agreed lamely.

Ziva unfolded her arms from across her chest, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. 'Uh, guys,' she began. 'I'm sorry but I have to-'

'Never say you're sorry,' Tony interjected quickly, pouncing on the opportunity to bring Gibbs into the conversation.

McGee stiffened and his gaze shifted nervously between his two co-workers.

Ziva smiled feebly. 'I have to go,' she finished apologetically.

Tony nodded. 'Ok.' He raised one arm, as if to give her a half hug, and then lowered it to shake her hand. Ziva held out the same hand to be shaken so instead she opted for an awkward pat on the shoulder.

'Bye,' she said flatly.

Tony hesitated before repeating her words straight back to her. The meaning that had flooded every exchange they had ever had was absent. The final goodbye was void of any worth.

Ziva and McGee managed to pass the planning stages of a farewell gesture and shook hands formally. 'Bye,' he muttered. She nodded sadly and turned to walk away.

She considered turning back and waving once more, getting one final look at the team, but decided that they had probably moved on to saying goodbye to each other so she kept walking, moving away from her family of nine years.

She passed Jimmy on her retreat and raised a hand in a pathetic offer of a wave. Jimmy smiled and waved back. She nodded and lowered her head again, staring at the gravel crunching beneath her feet.

Jimmy watched her go before turning back to the two remaining members of the team. He watched them shake hands and exchange a couple of empty sentiments before parting ways; McGee heading towards a coffee shop across the road, Tony heading down the gravel path to his car parked by the entrance.

Tony nodded curtly at Jimmy as he passed, following Ziva's footsteps. Jimmy returned the gesture, adding a smile. He respected Tony and did not condemn his choice, although Jimmy could not quite understand his motives.

Then, Tony had gone and Jimmy was left alone, shivering in the cold. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and rubbed his hands together, watching his breath swirl in front of his face.

Vance walked past, the only one so far not to acknowledge Jimmy. His attention was occupied by an obviously tense phone call. Jimmy wished that he had Abby's skill of lip reading so he could know what was making Vance so virile. Jimmy watched Vance disappear into the distance, the grating sound of gravel beneath shoes fading in a rapid diminuendo.

'Mr Palmer.'

Jimmy turned around, a smile already on his face. 'Dr Mallard,' he replied. 'I'm sorry for your...'

Ducky nodded, cutting Jimmy off. 'Where are you going now, Jimmy?' he asked.

Jimmy turned back around and shrugged. Ducky stepped up beside him and stared in the same direction as his assistant. They stood in comfortable silence, shoulder to shoulder, amiable friends giving each other dumb comfort.

'I should probably get back to Breena,' Jimmy answered at length.

'Ah,' Ducky said knowingly. 'And how is wedding coming on?'

Jimmy smiled animated for the first time that day. 'It's all coming together. We've booked a day and we're sending out the invitations tomorrow.'

'You will make a fine husband, Jimmy,' Ducky told him.

Jimmy nodded. 'Thank you, Dr Mallard.' He smiled at the older man and left, heading in the same direction as Ziva and Tony had done. But they weren't going to end up in the same place, Jimmy noted. In truth, they were all going in completely different directions. 'Never the twain shall meet,' he quoted, murmuring to himself.

Ducky sighed as the last of his colleagues hurried off into the cold. He pulled a pair of gloves out of his deep coat pockets and pulled them on; grateful for the warmth they brought his hands at least. He was the last one left now. They had all gone their separate ways, following the call of other parts of their life.

Ducky had seen many friends claimed by love, work, family and numerous other factors. It was only right, he guessed, that they should move on and follow their hearts to where they wanted to end up. It was just a shame that they had forgotten where they had come from and who they had come with. The future was not the only important thing to consider. He hoped that Gibbs's team would remember that.

He took a few steps forward, leaving the square block of stone which Jimmy had been leaning on. He scanned the horizon, seeking out someone else who had come. Gibbs had touched many people in his life but so few were still alive to honour his touch.

A great man like Gibbs deserved a greater send off than seven people standing silently and respectfully around a grave.

**Ooh, Gibbs died. Any good? Review?**


	2. Beige Is The Colour Of Snipers

**I'm not going to bother confusing me and everyone else with new futuristic inventions so just pretend for the sake of this story that technological advancement slows down a lot. **

**I have already written four more chapters so I will probably upload another one later this evening.**

The house sat in the centre of a benign suburb. Strange that, since the many incidents that had occurred there were rather less than benign. It looked nothing like a house of a sniper and even less like the house where confidential CIA personnel files were kept, stored in the drawer beneath the guns and rifles. It had always reminded her more of a family home, occupied by snivelling toddlers and surly teenagers, chiselling away at the scrimped earnings of stressed parents.

On either side of the house, identical clapboard houses squatted in their square yards. And next to them, were more identical houses. A sea of uniform beige buildings where no one domicile stood out, except perhaps to people with a particular attachment to a particular house. Old owners occasionally drove down from their new houses up in New England to nod wisely and mutter memories. Grown up children pointed out their childhood house to clamouring children or new husbands. Grieving families parked on the street and wept onto their steering wheels with a newly sold house in the background.

She had no such attachment. Slamming the car door behind her, she walked up the short path to the front door. Knocking sharply, she stepped back and surveyed the building. Things that start life as unremarkable and lifeless age well. There was no character to lose, no shine to fade. As such, she found no noticeable changes to the outside. The gutter had been changed and the window frame was painted more often than when she had last stood outside the door.

The glaring difference was the door. Instead of swinging freely open when she knocked, it had held fast, locked and chained shut. She had never had to wait for an answer before. Abandoning her sight seeing, she turned back to the door and waited impatiently for it to be opened. Never an enduring woman, she grew restless fast and started to tap her foot.

Her keen eye noticed a window which she might be able to jimmy open. She made no move towards it though. Even if she opened a window and somehow managed to climb on top of the porch to reach it, she would not be able to manoeuvre her gait through the small hole. It wasn't that she was overly big, but her bones were weary and her doctor had recommended not taking the stairs too fast. He would have a cardiac arrest if she suggested clambouring through upstairs windows.

Giving up on being let into the house through the front door conventionally, she left the path and trudged gloomily around the side of the house. Grass, which had once been the minority in the garden, had sprouted through the bare patches created by an unconcerned gardener. The weeds which had decorated the dull earth had been rooted out, replaced by the emerald carpet. There were no flowers, however, so the previous owner had not been completely put to shame. Although, after twenty-five years, perhaps there had been many owners since the one whose garden she had known so well.

She reached the back of the house and rattled the handle on the back door. It didn't give and nobody answered her noise. She aimed a kick at the foot of it before beginning the journey round to the front of the house. She poked a curious finger at the tall picket fence. She didn't remember it being so tall and so white. Whoever lived there now must like both the house and privacy more. House proud, that was the phrase. She stored that up for future use. Even after being an American citizen for thirty years, some English still managed to catch her out. They do say that you never stop learning.

She rounded the corner and found another car parked next to hers. It was a small car, though at the distance and with her failing eyesight she could not quite make out what model. It looked more like a Volkswagen than a Porsche, though. She walked back to the Porsche and found a man standing on the front step, peering through the glass panel on the green door.

She coughed loudly to attract his attention. He straightened up quickly, as if electrocuted, and turned round, clutching his back.

'I really shouldn't stand up so fast,' he grumbled.

She took a few more steps forward. 'Tony?' she asked, her voice cracking slightly with uncertainty.

He chuckled drily. 'No,' he replied. 'I wish.' He pulled a pair of glasses from a case protruding from his trouser pocket and pushed them on. He eyed her for a moment. 'Ziva?' he guessed.

She nodded. 'McGee,' she greeted monotonously. 'How are you?'

He smiled flabbily. 'Fine,' he answered, gesturing to his wide berth. 'Could be better I suppose. You?' he added politely.

She shrugged glumly. 'Much the same.'

He frowned. 'As before?' he asked, slightly taken aback. 'I mean, you still...?'

She cut him off hastily, not wanting him to voice his thoughts. 'No,' she corrected. 'I meant much the same as you.'

He nodded dumbly. They stood there awkwardly for a second before Ziva broke into the growing silence. 'Have you knocked?'

He nodded gravely. 'Nobody answered.'

She considered the situation for a moment. 'Do you know who texted you, telling you to come here?' she asked.

McGee shrugged his shoulders. 'I assumed that it was one of you,' he replied.

Ziva pursed her lips, thinking hard. 'It all seems a little too much like a detective novel,' she remarked.

He grinned. 'You read those?'

She shook her head, frowning at the idea. 'I lived a detective novel for many years,' she explained. 'Why would read about it?' She smiled toothily. 'No, my...' She tailed off.

McGee raised his eyebrows, expecting her to continue.

'You just know about them,' she finished, changing the ending.

'What are you thinking?' he asked, not following her train of thought.

She spread her hands wide, palms facing upwards, laying out her thought. 'Maybe somebody lured us here,' she suggested. 'A revenge plan for someone we caught.'

McGee looked sceptical. 'The revenge is a little delayed, isn't it?'

Her arms dropped to her sides with a slap. 'They've been in prison up until now,' she offered.

The doubt did not slide off McGee's face. 'We don't work there anymore, though. Why would anyone want to get vengeance now? And why would they assume that we would even come?'

Ziva did not answer his question. Instead, her attention returned to the problem of getting into the house. 'Reply to the message,' she ordered imperiously.

McGee pulled his phone out of his pocket. Ziva eyed it warily.

'What is that thing?' she asked, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Once so open-minded, the years had only served to narrow her tolerance.

He pulled it closer to his chest, cradling it in his hands. 'It's my phone,' he replied defensively.

'That isn't a phone,' she argued, pulling her own phone out of her handbag. 'This is.'

McGee shook his head vehemently. 'This is the new phone,' he insisted. 'They gave it to me at work.'

'Where do you work, NASA?' she teased.

He ignored her and concentrated his attention on the phone. It rang and he pressed it to his ear. 'Hello,' he said uncertainly. Ziva watched him impatiently. He hazarded a smile. 'Yes,' he replied to an unheard question. 'Let us in.' He slipped the phone back into his pocket. 'Abby called us,' he told Ziva. 'She's just coming to let us in.'

Ziva did not look satisfied. 'Why didn't she let us in before? And why are we here anyway?' she demanded.

McGee shrugged. 'She was in the basement listening to music. She didn't say why she called us here.'

Ziva sighed intolerantly but moved towards the front door.


	3. Grandpa, What Big Teeth You Have

**Ok, I realised that maybe I haven't made the circumstances quite clear. The prologue takes place three years after the end of Season 8 and now we are twenty-five years after that.**

Abby shuffled over towards the stereo and turned it off. She rubbed her ears vigorously, trying to get rid of the ringing the loud music had brought on. 'Can't think why I used to listen to that crap,' she muttered to herself.

She hobbled up the stairs, clutching her walking stick. She had only had her sixtieth birthday a couple of years ago, but for reasons she rarely divulged, her legs were thin and weak. She reached the top of the stairs, remembering sourly the last time that she had been in the basement. When she had gone to leave, she had run gaily up the steps, taking two at a time. Now, she could barely take one at a time.

She slowly made her way towards the door and fiddled with the chain. Pushing down on the handle, she pulled the door towards her and peered round the side. She was apprehensive about seeing her former colleagues after all the years.

To her relief, they had not weathered any more elegantly than her. She jerked her head, ushering them in and shut the door quickly behind them.

'What are we doing here?' the woman she presumed was Ziva demanded.

The white haired, paunchy man offered her a shy smile. She grinned back, though, as she knew from her many smiles into a mirror, it was probably more like a leer. 'Where's Tony?' she asked peremptorily.

Ziva narrowed her eyes. 'Great,' she muttered. 'You invited everyone.'

Abby did not deign to reply but moved back towards to the kitchen, starting off down the steps again, descending into the damp basement.

McGee trotted behind, clutching the banister for dear life. Ziva stopped at the top and peered down. 'It's much nicer up here,' she complained croakily.

Abby reached the bottom and turned to look up at Ziva, framed in the doorway. Gibbs had explained the story of Ziva's initiation into NCIS to Abby a few months before he had died and Abby had imagined the scene quite like this, except the agile, youthful Ziva would be squatting instead of leaning heavily against the wooden frame.

'I don't live here,' Abby explained impatiently. 'I hacked the keypad to get in. The owners are on holiday.'

Ziva pouted. 'That doesn't explain why we can't stay up here,' she argued.

'Having lights on and figures moving around will make the neighbours suspicious,' Abby replied. 'And, anyway, it's quite symbolic to have the meeting down here.'

Ziva sighed theatrically and began to make her way down the steps, grumbling as she went.

McGee sat down at the table. He had rarely been down in Gibbs's basement but he did remember the smell of sawdust quite distinctly. His nostrils did not pick up any such scent now. It smelled damp and of mildew.

Abby took a seat opposite him. She had cleared what little junk had been tossed onto the table. It had been a relatively easy task, since the owners did not seem to pay much attention to the cavernous room beneath their house.

Ziva finally stepped onto flat ground and walked over to the table. She had ceased her mutterings but her forehead was still furrowed in distaste. She lowered herself onto a seat, deciding to leave a stool in between her and McGee.

She did not ask anymore questions about why they had been summoned, and Abby did not offer any explanation. They sat in silence and waited for the last member of the team. Years previous, Tony had always been the one to lighten up the atmosphere with a badly cracked joke or a tiresome reference to a movie that was hardly pertinent to the situation at all. Perhaps he would be able to wipe the discontented scowls off their faces.

They did not have to wait long. A harsh banging on reinforced glass alerted them to his less than punctual arrival. The three down in the basement exchanged glances, wordlessly arguing about who had to slog their way back up the stairs to let the impatient knocker in.

Eventually, McGee gave way and hauled his girth off his chair. Ziva and Abby both watched him climb laboriously to the top step. Only after he disappeared into the kitchen did they turn back, avoiding eye contact.

They heard loud mumbles before the clattering of footsteps reached the top of the stairs once more. Turning – and feeling a crick developing in their neck at the same time – they saw, after McGee had stopped blocking the doorway, a haggard figure appear and follow the larger man down into the basement.

Despite being the oldest, he was evidently the most agile and he quickly pushed past McGee and reached the bottom. The basement was dimly lit and they could still not see his face clearly. He moved into the light and they peered at him with interest.

His hairline had receded and the tufts of caramel brown were flecked with dark grey. His skin was more tanned than Ziva remembered and it was creased with lines cutting deep into his leathery skin as if sliced by a carving knife. His bushy brows hung long over weary eyes and the inequality of hair distribution continued to his jawline where the stubble had grown into a badly shorn half-beard. All in all, he was not a person people would jump at the chance to meet in a dark alleyway.

He nodded curtly at them and dropped onto McGee's stool opposite Abby. McGee's lips puffed into a pout but he waddled round the table and sank down beside Abby. Feeling left out, Ziva knocked the stool in between her and Tony over and shifted herself nearer to the gathering, making McGee wince at the screeching that the stool legs made on the flagstones.

She leant her elbows on the table and rested her weight on them, hiding her double chin from sight. Tony pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit it. Ziva watched the flame flare from the black lighter curiously.

'Since when did you smoke?' Abby demanded.

Tony looked up, his sunken eyes giving her a penetrating once over. 'Since I took it up,' he replied shortly.

The look on Abby's face resembled that of a flatulent crone but she did not press the matter. He stuck the end of the cigarette between his dry lips and sucked, his eyes closing pleasurably as he drew in the acrid smoke. Eyeing Abby, he puckered his lips hyperbolically and blew out, as if blowing out birthday candles or snuffing out a match. The horizontal fountain of grey fog headed straight for Abby's face and she coughed, flapping her hand at the unwanted cigarette smoke. A crude smile flirted on Tony's lips before the fag was pushed between them again.

_Tony leaned against the wall, rubbing his temple with his fingertips. He had a throbbing headache. He glared at the smouldering cigarette recently thrown onto the floor and stamped it out aggressively._

'_Hey, Tony,' a Spanish voice called. 'You want another?' The man thrust a cigarette at Tony without waiting for a response._

_Tony took it, faking a grateful smile. 'Thanks, Joey,' he muttered. 'So, what's on for tonight?'_

_Joey leaned against the wall beside Tony, leaving a distinct distance between their shoulders. With his earring, Joey had often been called 'gay' when he was younger and he was very careful now not to give anyone an excuse to bring the old joke up again. Not that would, even if they found Joey in bed with another dude, for Joey controlled most of guns for a mile around. If you got on his bad side, you would find a bullet lodged neatly in your brain before teatime._

'_There's a small job going on,' Joey replied cautiously. 'You want in?'_

_Tony pretended to consider the offer. 'Sure,' he agreed at length. 'What is it?'_

'_Some guy over thatta way,' he jerked his thumb over his shoulder to demonstrate, 'owes me some cash. Drug money, ya know. I figure, we go get what's ours. That's only fair, right.' Tony nodded in agreement. 'So, we go collect what he owes,' Joey concluded._

_Tony nodded. 'What do you want me to do?'_

_Joey nodded to Tony's waist. 'You go with the boys,' he decided. 'You gotcha own gun, right?'_

_Tony nodded again. 'Sure. I'll be waiting.'_

_Joey grinned, showing off his gold tooth, and swaggered away, leaving Tony with the acrid taste of tobacco in his mouth._

Tony breathed in the smoke again, glad that he had kept the habit going despite the initial headaches. Tobacco and alcohol: his main vices. He sucked on his gums. Better add prostitutes to that list.

**Don't jump to conclusions quite yet...**


	4. Susceptible To Fungi

**Still keeping the whole 2 chapters a day thing going. And updating it earlier because I don't want to discriminate against people in earlier time zones. Like me. So, here you are, British people.**

Ziva shifted impatiently on her stool. She wasn't sure why she had come in the first place but, now that she was here, she wanted to get home as quickly as possible. She opened her mouth to ask once more why Abby had brought them all here but a noise from beside her reduced her demand to a quiet groan, her words stillborn.

Tony felt his chest constricting and he wrenched the cigarette from between his chapped lips, spluttering and coughing violently. He banged on his chest with his fist and got up, pushing his stool back. Staggering towards the cracked ceramic sink, his hand fumbled for a glass to fill with water. His clumsy hand knocked a jar onto the floor and it went rolling, clinking and scraping across the stone floor, and ended up at Ziva's foot.

She kicked it away, sending it rolling back towards Tony. He bent over, still coughing viciously, picked it up and thrust it under the spurting tap. He tipped it back and let the water slid into his mouth, grimacing at the metallic taste.

He threw the jar back into the sink and strode back to the table, throwing himself onto his stool. He looked unconcerned by the whole affair. The others stared at him uneasily for, however crooked and unfeeling they had become, there was still a lingering notion of protecting their own.

'This is why you shouldn't smoke,' Abby said, breaking the silence at last. 'It makes you ill.'

Tony scowled. 'I'm not ill,' he barked. 'I'm fine.'

Abby raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

'Why did you start anyway?' The intrusive question was posed by McGee, blurted out in a moment of unthinking interest.

Tony's eyes flashed. 'That's none of your business,' he snapped. 'What are we doing here anyway?'

Ziva sat up straighter at the last part, finally hoping to get an answer to her question.

Abby tucked her straggly black hair behind her ears. 'I called you all here today,' she announced, feeling rather like the presiding king of a secret organisation, 'because one of us is in trouble.'

Ziva frowned and looked at each of the faces around the table, just to make sure. 'But, we're all here,' she contradicted.

Abby squirmed a little. 'It's Palmer,' she admitted. 'He's in trouble.'

Tony laughed, a grating sound which scraped at their ear drums like a cat clawing a blackboard. 'Palmer? Palmer couldn't get into trouble if he tried.'

Abby sent him a scathing look. 'Well, he has,' she spat. 'His children have been kidnapped.'

McGee leaned forward. 'Why?'

Abby drew a deep breath. 'He took over from Ducky after...' She stopped and glared pointedly at Ziva and Tony, both of whom refused to look suitably chastened. 'So, now, he's the ME at NCIS. It's all related to some case,' she explained vaguely.

'Whatever,' Tony said, completely indifferent. 'This isn't our problem; it's NCIS's job to find them.'

Abby shook her head gravely. 'Jimmy called us because all of NCIS's resources are being thrown at preventing a terrorist attack. The Director put a couple of junior agents on it and called the local police.' She sniffed and rubbed her nose before continuing. 'He and Breena divorced, you see, and she got main custody of the kids.'

She looked around. Tony had lit another cigarette and McGee and Ziva were staring at the edge of the table, stiff and slightly paler than before she had explained. Abby wondered what part of the story had touched a nerve with them.

'So,' she prompted. 'Are we going to help?'

Ziva sighed gloomily. 'I guess,' she muttered.

McGee shrugged. 'Sure. Whatever.'

Tony was the final one left with a question mark next to his name. Abby stared at him expectantly. Eventually, he pulled the cigarette from between his teeth. 'Ok,' he agreed reluctantly, rolling his eyes.

Abby grinned. Twenty-five years ago, she would have clapped her hands and jumped up and down but, as she would most probably break something if she expressed her delight in such a way, she settled for a wide grin.

'He's coming,' she told him as an afterthought. 'Jimmy, I mean. He's coming to lay it all out for us.'

Ziva glanced at her watch. It was a monstrous thing on her arm, with giant easy-to-read numbers. She resisted wearing glasses but her eyesight was slowly letting her down. Rather like Gibbs, she noted. 'How long will this take?' she asked.

Abby frowned. 'He's coming soon,' she answered slowly. 'But I don't know how long it will take us to find his kids.'

Ziva pursed her lips. 'I have a poker group meeting at my house tomorrow,' she said, more to herself than her old friends. 'If I leave at lunch time I can get back for nine.'

'Where do you live?' Tony asked uninterestedly.

She scratched her chin before replying. 'Boston,' she said flatly. She didn't return the question.

_Hugging shopping bags to her stomach, Ziva waddled up the path to her front door. She tried to reach for her keys in her pocket without dropping the bags. She failed; the plastic bags tumbled out of her hands and oranges, tomatoes, carrots, potatoes rolled out and escaped into the small square of grass out the front._

_She gritted her teeth, determined not to curse, and scrambled around, trying to collect all her groceries._

'_Need a hand?' a helpful voice asked._

_Ziva looked up. A man was looking over the fence at her and smiling pleasantly. Ziva returned the smile._

'_Thank you,' she said, blinking._

_He smiled once more and hopped neatly over the fence._

'_I used to be on the athletic team at school,' he explained, obviously noticing her surprise at his agility. 'I was a crack at the high jump.'_

_Ziva smiled. 'I used to be quite athletic myself,' she remarked, not adding that while she was flying through the air, bullets had been whizzing round her head and, when she landed, she would send a few of her own bullets, most of them ending up lodged in someone's skull._

'_You've just moved in here, right?'_

_Ziva nodded. 'Came from Cleveland,' she added after a slight hesitation._

'_It's a nice area; I think you'll like it,' he told her._

'_I'm Ziva,' she said, proffering her hand._

_He shook it, still smiling. 'Nice to meet you, Ziva. I'm Larry.'_

'Where are we going to sleep tonight?' McGee asked.

'My doctor would have worms if I slept on the floor,' Ziva chimed in grumpily.

Abby waited for Tony to correct Ziva's idiom. When he didn't, she took over his customary role. 'He would have kittens, Ziva, kittens.'

Ziva shook her head. 'No, he would have ringworms. Every time he gets stressed, he goes to the swimming pool. And he is very susceptible to fungi.'

McGee wrinkled his nose in disgust and repeated his question.

Abby cocked her head to one side. 'I might have passed a hotel on my way in,' she mused uncertainly.

Tony rolled his eyes. 'There is a Days Inn half a mile north, a Travelodge two miles north-east, a...' he recited, his observant eyes still in practise.

Abby held up her hand to cut him off. 'Days Inn sounds fine,' she decided.

Ziva shook her head. 'The service in Days Inn is terrible,' she grumbled. 'I told them that I'd never stay with them again.' She crossed her arms decisively. 'Travelodge is fine,' she added.

Abby sighed. 'Fine, we'll go to Travelodge.'

Ziva smirked, satisfied by the final decision.

**Oh, Ziva's married. And not to Tony. It's so odd writing a different married version of Ziva to the Tiva wedding currently going in my other story. Review please?**


	5. Tony's Investigating Face

**Whoops. I didn't realise that I told you Ziva was married. I wasn't supposed to tell you that yet. So, just for me, could you act surprised when I reveal it here. *Sigh* This is why you don't skip ahead. I shall write it chapter by chapter from now on.**

The sound of chiming bells echoed throughout the basement. 'Sorry,' McGee muttered, pulling his futuristic looking phone from his pocket. 'Work,' he added by way of explanation. He climbed off his chair and hurried into the corner, mumbling to his colleague.

'Did you go back to NCIS, then?' Ziva asked Abby, filling the empty space created by the end of the previous conversation.

Abby shook her head dismally. 'Palmer called me up out of nowhere,' she explained, offering no more information about where she worked.

Ziva nodded. She didn't particularly care much about where Abby had ended up; she was sure that Abby had fared better than her at any rate.

Tony's hand crept to his belt, sticking his index finger through a loop. His shirt was only tucked in at that small space: a space the size of a badge, a badge which was now absent.

'You still keep a space for your NCIS badge,' Ziva remarked.

Tony looked down and pulled his finger from his belt loop. 'No, there was...something else here,' he replied, finishing lamely.

McGee returned to his seat, pocketing his phone once more. 'Work,' he explained again.

'Where do you work now?' Abby asked politely. He was clearly proud of his job and etiquette told her to humour him.

McGee glanced up, startled. 'Oh, somewhere,' he answered vaguely.

Abby frowned. She was sure that she could read McGee better than that. If he didn't want to talk about work, why did he bring it up unnecessarily?

Tony tapped his watch with his forefinger. 'When is Palmer coming?'

'If you have somewhere you need to be, Tony, just go,' Ziva snapped. 'Go. Nobody is keeping you here.'

Tony glared at her. 'I was just asking, Ziva. Aren't we allowed to do that anymore?'

Ziva returned the glower defiantly. 'Of course, Tony, but stop whinging.' She turned to Abby. 'I have to go home tomorrow, at lunchtime.'

Abby's face took on a pained look. 'But, we won't be able to find Jimmy's kids by then,' she protested. 'This isn't a game; two children are in danger.'

Ziva's expression hardened. 'I have commitments,' she said firmly. 'I must go at lunchtime.'

Tony dropped his cigarette onto the floor and squished it with the toe of his shoe. 'I'll need to go tomorrow as well.'

Ziva wrinkled her nose. 'You have to go to work?' she guessed.

Tony hesitated before shaking his head grimly. 'I have tickets to a baseball game.'

'Still support the same team?' Ziva asked, the hint of a grin curling the edges of her mouth.

'Yeah,' Tony replied, lighting another cigarette. 'But I'm going to the Eagles game tomorrow.'

Ziva raised her eyebrows. 'Philadelphia,' she noted. 'They're doing quite well at the moment.'

A chuckle escaped Tony's chapped lips, accompanied by a puff of smoke. 'Since when did you follow football?'

Ziva smiled for the first time. 'I don't. But my husband...' She stopped mid-sentence.

'_Honey,' Larry called. 'It's almost time!'_

'_Coming,' Ziva called down the stairs. 'Just a minute!' _

_She tossed the rest of the clothes into the wardrobe and hurried down the stairs to join her husband in the living room. Flopping onto the sofa beside him, she wriggled into the crook of his arm._

'_You almost missed it,' he scolded._

_She grinned. 'You want me to bring the beer?'_

_He reached over the arm of the sofa and lifted up a six pack in a black cardboard box. He pulled two out and offered one to her. She pulled back to tab and sipped it slowly._

'_You didn't like this brand last time I bought it,' she reminded him._

_He shook his head. 'No, I didn't. That was the other one.' He took a swig to prove his point and spluttered, sending a spray of beer onto the coffee table._

_Ziva smirked. 'See?'_

_He squeezed her shoulders. 'Ok, ok, you were right,' he accepted. 'Do we have any other beer?'_

_She sighed dramatically and stood up. 'Call me if anyone scores,' she ordered, hurrying across the hallway into the kitchen._

_She opened the fridge and pulled out a green box of beer. She supposed that she would have to drink all six cans of the other brand on her own, and soon since he seemed to constantly think that there was an imminent beer shortage and they should stock up. But, then, they never had enough time to use up the supply before he bought some more._

_She smiled at the beer. All her friends complained that their husbands didn't do enough around the house. She guessed that she should just be pleased that he helped out with the weekly shop._

'_They've scored! Ziva! They scored!' he shouted._

_Kicking the fridge door shut with her foot and clutching the box of beer to her chest, she ran back into the living room to catch the end of the replay._

_He looked at her in surprise. 'It still amazes me how fast you are,' he told her, kissing her forehead lovingly._

_She smiled and kissed his cheek in return. Of course, he knew the general story of her past, but she has left out some of the less easy to stomach parts, mostly the quantity of killings._

_They sat back down and, sipping their beer, they turned their attention back to the game. Ziva rested her head on his chest and closed her eyes, content listening to his heartbeat._

'You're married?' Abby asked.

Ziva did not reply.

Abby looked as if she was about to press the matter but a knock on the door saved Ziva.

'That must be Jimmy,' Abby cried. She looked around, expecting someone to offer to go and let him in, but they were all looking at her. Abby looked at the daunting number of steps before tapping her walking stick pointedly.

Tony got up, griping, and trudged up the stairs. When he reached the top, he dropped his cigarette over the banister onto the floor below, and then spat, aiming for the cigarette to extinguish the faint glow, but missing it by inches. He snorted, as if to show his apathy, and disappeared into the kitchen to let the Autopsy Gremlin in.

There was silence once more in the basement; Ziva did not want to risk another inquisition from Abby, McGee did not want to say anything to prompt any questions, and Abby was worrying about how much help they were going to be to Palmer.

It wasn't that the team had stopped caring, but their own pain had chiselled away at their sympathy for others.

Tony appeared at the top of the steps, another cigarette already in his mouth. Palmer followed Tony down the stairs. He was younger than the rest of them and it showed. His hair had not shrunk or faded. Instead, it was now dyed a squirrel-brown. His glasses were almost identical to the pair that he had worn on the day of Gibbs's funeral: the last time that Tony and Ziva had seen him.

'Palmer,' Ziva greeted perfunctorily.

He looked at her; a strange expression on his face. He knew that he should be grateful for them coming, but he couldn't quite pull himself to lower himself so fast.

He had been very reluctant to call them. Twenty-five years ago, he had understood their actions and forgiven them for leaving NCIS. But, for eighteen years now, he had hated Tony and Ziva with a passion. And he hadn't liked McGee and Abby much more. It was only their expertise that had compelled him to enlist their help.

Palmer sat down on Tony's stool, formerly McGee's. Unlike McGee, however, Tony coughed pointedly and jerked his head in the direction of the other free stool. Palmer understood and dutifully moved.

'So,' Abby began after everyone was happily seated. 'I didn't quite catch all you said on the phone, Jimmy. You were talking fast and crying and...'

Jimmy interrupted sharply. 'My children had just gone missing,' he snapped defensively. His mouth contorted in a miserable grimace. 'Arthur and Poppy,' he murmured, before looking up and addressing them, deciding to put his anger aside and focus on saving his children. He could attack them for what they did later.

'They went missing two days ago from Breena's house,' he explained. 'We're divorced,' he added quietly. 'But she lives two roads away.' He looked round at them all. He hadn't quite caught their attention. He decided to skip the details and just go for the barest facts. Evidently, they didn't really care, he thought sourly.

'Two years ago, NCIS investigated a string of murders, mostly of low ranking officers on leave from ships. We traced it back to a married couple but we couldn't get enough evidence to prove it. Then, on one of the bodies, I found a fingerprint. It matched the wife. She got a life sentence. The husband got off free.'

'The husband threatened me and my family after the trial and we were given protection for a couple of months. Everything was quiet until, last month, the wife was injured in a prison brawl. The husband went to visit her in hospital and...I guess it fired up old desires for vengeance. I thought I saw him outside my house last weekend but I wasn't sure so I didn't say anything.' He put his head in his hands. 'Why didn't I say anything?' he moaned.

They all stared at him dumbly, not sure what words of sympathy they could give.

He straightened up and continued his story, his eyes heavy with worry. 'Then, Arthur and Poppy went missing. We called the police and they said they'd start a search once they had been missing for over three hours and we had looked in all the likely places. We looked for them everywhere. We left Georgia with...'

Tony butted in. 'Who's Georgia?'

'My other daughter,' Palmer replied. 'She was upstairs sleeping – she's only three – and Arthur and Poppy were playing in the front garden.'

Ziva smiled. She recognised the face that Tony was wearing; it was his investigation face. It had evolved slightly over the years; becoming more sceptical and impulsive, but the undertones were still the same.

'We looked everywhere but we couldn't find them. The police set up a small-scale search. They were reluctant to start anything major because they said that NCIS would just take over anyway so there wasn't much point at throwing resources at it.' He balled up his fists.

'But NCIS didn't take it over. Oh, they offered me a couple of probies as a goodwill gesture but all they care about right now is stopping a terrorist attack.' As soon as the disparaging words had left his mouth, he looked ashamed. 'I mean, of course, the terrorist attack is very important, but there are two innocent children in the hands of a serial killer.'

'How do you know that it was him who took them?' Ziva asked. 'If they were playing in the front garden then surely it could have been anyone?'

Palmer shook his head vehemently. 'I got a note the next day. He wants me to get his wife out of prison or he kills them.' He shuddered and put his hand over his mouth. 'We have to find them,' he concluded flatly. 'There is no other option.'

_Jimmy swung the door open and grinned. Two children flew at him, hugging his waist tightly in small hands._

'_Hey,' he greeted, laughing._

_Breena smiled maternally at the children before nodding at Jimmy. 'Poppy has a sleepover tomorrow night,' she told him. 'So I'll pick her up from there. Arthur wants to go to the football game on Wednesday and I think that you better take him.'_

_Jimmy nodded, grinning. 'You still won't go back there?'_

_Breena laughed. 'That man sat on me! He was like four hundred pounds! I don't think you'd want to go back there in a hurry,' she protested._

'_Daddy,' Poppy wheedled. 'Can we have ice-cream for pudding?'_

_Jimmy looked at Breena who nodded slightly. 'Of course,' Jimmy replied cheerfully. _

'_Ah, cool!' Arthur shouted, running into the living room and colliding with the table football._

_Jimmy smiled at his over-enthusiastic son. 'Say goodbye to Mummy,' he urged Poppy._

_Poppy let go of his waist and wrapped her arms around Breena instead. 'Bye-bye Mummy,' she cried._

'_Bye, sweetie,' Breena answered back. 'Bye, Arthur!' she called._

'_Bye, Mum,' he shouted back._

'_Bye, Jim,' she said, handing over a sleeping Georgia._

_He took his youngest daughter in his arms and gave his ex-wife a half-hug. 'Bye, Breena.'_

_He watched her go to back to the car and waved as she drove off. He turned to follow Poppy into the house but stopped, a face peeping out from behind a bush catching his eye. It looked like... No, it couldn't be. It had gone now anyway._

'_Jimmy, you're seeing things,' he muttered to himself, shutting the door behind him._

'I can't lose them,' he said firmly. 'They're all I have.'

Nobody spoke.

Jimmy looked around the table, at all the staring faces, and felt a gloom descend over him. He was upset and frightened for the safety of his children but, looking at the sullen faces he had enlisted to help him, he felt more depressed than anything else.

He wondered whether any of them had children. Surely, if they did, they would care more and help more. He needed them to care. He needed them to pull together and ignore the years between them. He needed them to save his children.

But, even if they found his children, he wasn't sure if he could forgive them for what they did.

**After tomorrow, I only one more hard exam so I will be a little more on top of what I put in author's notes. I'm currently feeling guilty and stressed because I have been writing this instead of revising Chemistry – when the fuck will we need moles anyway? – so I lost my usual calm and got confused. Not more spoilers from now on, though.**

**Review?**


	6. Wife Beater

**I realised that I haven't done much about Tony, McGee or Abby. This chapter mostly focuses on Tony and the next two will focus on McGee and Abby.**

Ziva's watch let out a loud beep, causing them all to jump. 'Six o'clock,' she remarked. 'Time for tea.'

Abby shook her head. 'I don't eat until half six,' she argued, looking to McGee for support.

McGee shrugged and folded his arms, trying to hide his protruding paunch. 'I just eat whenever,' he muttered.

Abby sighed. 'Fine,' she snapped. 'Let's go eat then.' She shot McGee a look. 'Tubby.'

McGee flushed but didn't reply. Climbing slowly off their stools, they formed a line at the foot of the steps. They all hobbled up the steps with Tony and Jimmy waiting impatiently for the others to get to the top. Stuck behind McGee's wobbling arse, they avoided making eye contact.

Tony suspected, quite rightly, that Jimmy was still harbouring feelings for what Tony had done – or more accurately, hadn't done – eighteen years previous.

Tony stubbed his cigarette out on the wooden banister and dropped it to the floor below. Already, he was reaching for another one.

He was looking forward to getting home, where he could smoke all he wanted without being reprimanded. His friends back in Philly never commented on his chain smoking; they all smoked a pack a day themselves. He fitted in with that crowd better than his old friends now and he didn't plan on changing that.

Emerging into the kitchen, they were all hit with the light from the sun. Their eyes did not adjust so easily from the gloom of the basement to the light beaming through the kitchen. They all walked, none talking, through the house and out the door.

Tony peered both ways down the street, noticing that none of the others did so. It was a natural instinct in an agent, yet they seemed to have forgotten about that life. He guessed he had too, but he had managed to hold on to the lessons he had learned.

They all climbed into their respective cars and set off, following Tony's navy saloon. Glancing repeatedly in his rear-view mirror, he saw that Ziva's driving had improved: slowing down and becoming more cautious. Abby had lost her quirky, black car too; she now drove a generic hatchback.

They reached the Travelodge and parked. They wandered into the reception in a straggled group; nobody waiting for anyone else. Twenty-five years ago, they would have helped each other out with bags, jostling each other, and sharing rooms in pairs to save money. Now, they each booked into a separate room and didn't even tell anyone else which room they had.

Tony sprawled on his bed, Ziva's question echoing in his ear. _You have to go to work? _ He sat up and switched on the TV. A cop show popped onto the screen. Tony lay back and watched it idly. Half way through, he sat up in disgust and switched it off, muttering about how it was 'unrealistic, just done to get ratings...'

Ignoring the signs saying: 'No Smoking,' he stuck yet another cigarette between his teeth and lit it with his prized black lighter.

He stood up and moved towards the bathroom, unzipping his fly as he walked. A knock on the door stopped him just before he reached the bathroom, however, and he turned around to open it. Ziva was standing in the hallway, leaning against the opposite wall, a paper cup of coffee in her hand.

'Yeah?' he barked impatiently.

She eyed his crotch. 'Your pants are open,' she remarked lazily.

He did not make any attempt to zip his fly up. She had seen his dick before, he reasoned, and, since he was just going to undo it again when he walked back in, there didn't seem much point.

'Yeah?' he repeated impatiently.

She held out her hand. He frowned and took a step towards her to see what she was holding properly.

'Where did you get that?' he demanded.

She rolled her eyes. 'It must have fallen into my handbag,' she muttered dismissively.

He scowled darkly and snatched it out of her hand. He turned to go back into the room but she continued talking. 'Your friend called.'

Tony leaned against the door frame. 'Who?' he asked suspiciously.

She shrugged. 'Something childish...Benny?'

He stood up straight. 'Joey?'

She nodded. 'Yeah, that was it. Someone special?'

He growled through gritted teeth. 'You could say that.'

_Tony's hand gravitated to his waist. Joey appeared by his side and gave Tony a toothy grin._

'_You looking forward to this?' Tony asked, chuckling wryly._

_Joey shrugged, giving Tony a lopsided grin. 'The adrenalin rush is not something you can get from drugs. This guy is...' He wrinkled his nose and pounded his fist into his open hand to demonstrate his point. '...not good. He beats his girl.'_

_Tony nodded. He almost felt guilty for what was coming next. Saving the life of a lowlife was not something he condoned. His eyes hardened, coming to an impulsive decision. 'I have to piss,' he muttered. He moved around the corner of the building and unzipped his fly._

_Masked by the splashing of piss on grass, he put his finger to his ear. 'Wait for my signal,' he muttered. There was an affirmative crackling from his earpiece and then it went dead. Tony yanked up the zip and returned to Joey._

_Joey offered him a cigarette. 'It helps with the noise,' he explained helpfully._

_Tony took it and lit it. The day before, Joey had given him a black cigarette lighter. 'My mam gave it to me,' he had told Tony. 'I lit my first fag on that thing.' Tony had not taken Joey for a sentimental guy but the tone of his voice had touched a nerve in Tony._

_Together, they watched the shadow move around in the man's house. In a few seconds, there would be more shadows, then...no more shadows until a well-meaning neighbour notes that they hadn't seen X for a while and peer nosily through the window. Tony did not attempt to conceal his smile at the mental image of the innocent neighbour's face._

'_Come on,' Joey decided. 'Let's go.' He nodded at the other guys standing nearby and they all converged on the unsuspecting man's house._

_Tony did the honours; kicking the man's door down easily. Eight heavily built, tattooed men barged into the living room, startling the man. He was puffing away on a cigarette but the smoke smelled more like weed than tobacco. There was blood on the carpet and the battered face of a woman was peering through the bedroom door like a frightened rabbit._

_Joey and his muscle ignored her and instead began to beat the man. _

_Tony drew a deep breath and made up his mind. He reached into his ear and, under pretence of scratching an itch vigorously, he disabled the earpiece. _

_After a few minutes, Joey held up his hand. 'Enough,' he ordered. The men all backed off. Joey nodded at Tony. 'You do it.'_

_Tony looked down at the man and then at the whimpering, bloody woman. God, he wanted to shoot that man, but his superiors would like that. 'Fuck them,' he decided, reaching for his gun. He fired three shots, each one going straight into the man's head._

_Joey spat on the corpse before calling his men to leave. They all trooped out and clambered into the waiting SUVs. Tony and Joey were left alone in the dead man's living room. Joey crossed the room and bent down to the woman. Tony readied his hand on his gun, prepared to shoot Joey if he tried to rape the defenceless woman. But, his action was not necessary._

'_Get out of here,' Joey advised the beaten woman. 'You're a beautiful girl; find someone who treats you right.'_

_The woman smiled faintly and nodded. Joey straightened up. 'Let's go,' he said, walking out of the house towards the final SUV._

_Tony watched him climb into the car and wait for Tony to join him. They were supposed to be riding back together._

'_Shit,' he cursed under his breath. He reached into his ear and pulled out the earpiece. He had really fucked that up. Fixing the earpiece was a job for the geeks down in the FBI's basement; instead, he took out his phone. It rang twice before a frazzled agent picked up. _

'_Tony,' he snapped. 'What the hell happened?'_

_Tony did not hesitate before lying flatly. 'My earpiece went down. They've got another job next week, though. We can get them on that.'_

_Tony hung up, only catching the beginnings of a torrent of curses. He knew that particular man had wanted to wrap up this case before that evening so that they would get the weekend off. The next day was Father's Day. Despite this, Tony did not feel any guilt for deliberately botching the job. _

_Looking down at the man, killed by a FBI issue gun, lying prostrate on the floor, he felt a dull sense of dismal satisfaction. He nodded curtly at the woman and left the house, climbing in beside Joey._

'_Hey, man. What took you so long?' Joey asked._

_Tony grinned. 'I had to get in a few more kicks.'_

_Joey nodded in agreement and drove away._

_The next day he was arrested by the FBI and sentenced to four years in jail before getting parole. Tony had never been revealed as the reason for his arrest and Joey had assumed that it was just as a matter of course._

_That had been four years ago._

Tony eyed the phone warily. It was his secondary phone – not registered to the FBI. He used it for undercover work. If Joey was calling him, he must have been granted parole.

Tony knew that he should not be feeling pleased that the gang leader had been released but he couldn't help grinning to himself as he called his old friend back.

He fingered the space where his FBI badge had been as he listened to the dial tone.

'Joey,' he greeted. 'You got parole?...Yeah, man, let's definitely meet up...Sure...See you then...Bye.'

He fully intended to meet up with his ex-con buddy and did not intend to inform the FBI of the reunion.

Ziva eyed him curiously. 'Parole?' she asked.

Tony glared at her and stepped into his room, slamming the door in her face. She shrugged and turned away; the image of Tony's bulging boxers showing through his open fly imprinted in her mind. She couldn't help but hope that the bulge had been caused by her.

**Tiva!**

**Does anyone know where you can watch NCIS episodes in German? I need to start on my German revision but I want to have fun doing it. I'm no good at boring revision. Which is why I keep updating this so punctually. I figure that this is improving my intellectual creativity so it's basically revision. Such a pity that all my English exams have been done... Anyway, does anyone know where you can get the eps in German?**


	7. Dirty Whore

**A little thing for all you McAbby fans out there.**

The receptionist was thin to the point of emaciation. Fragile bones swam beneath insipid skin and thin-rimmed glasses were perched on a high-bridged nose with the lucid skin stretched across it. Her eyes were sunken into her skull and her forehead protruded far over her cheek bones. Pale yellow teeth were visible through translucent lips.

Abby glared at the woman. 'Look, call them up, at least,' she said, exasperated.

The woman fixed her with a cold stare. 'I can't do that, ma'am, it's protocol.'

'Screw protocol,' Abby snapped. 'All I want is to call up my friends and invite them to dinner. Why is that an issue?'

A stocky man appeared through the door behind the receptionist. 'Is there an issue?' he asked thickly, staring through cloudy glasses.

Abby sighed. 'I can't remember which rooms my friends are in,' she explained slowly. 'All I want her to do is call them up. I'm not asking for a room number or an extension number, I just want her to call them and ask if I can speak to them.'

The man studied Abby, considering her request. Finally, he nodded at the gaunt receptionist. 'Call them,' he nodded shortly, disappearing into the back room again.

Abby smiled triumphantly as the receptionist sourly dialled the extension number for Ziva.

'Hello, Mrs Grey?' Abby hid a smile at Ziva's married name. 'Yes, there is an Abby Scuito wishing to speak with you...Yes, I understand. Thank you, Mrs Grey. Sorry to trouble you.' The skeletal receptionist smirked at Abby unkindly. 'She doesn't wish to speak with you. She said that she was busy.'

Abby's face fell before contorting into a scowl. 'Call Anthony DiNozzo next,' she ordered.

The receptionist pursed her thin lips and dialled another number. 'Mr DiNozzo?' She repeated her spiel before reporting the same story to Abby.

Abby did not lose hope, however. 'McGee will want to come with me,' she stated firmly. 'Try him. You'll see,' she added, slightly venomously.

The receptionist looked dubiously but, heeding her superior's words, she called McGee. The exchange began the same way but, instead of hanging up without speaking to Abby, McGee asked for his old friend to be put on.

Ten minutes later, they were walking out of the foyer and into the car park. Their shoulders bumped every few steps but they did not try to hold hands and there was still some tension between them; an awkwardness which refused to evaporate.

'My car or yours?' McGee asked as they approached Abby's hatchback.

Abby nodded towards McGee's saloon. 'Yours,' she decided.

She climbed into the passenger seat and stared forwards, not looking at McGee as he carefully manoeuvred the car out of the underground car park. The caution that he had adopted when driving a Porsche had not left him even though he had downgraded to a more basic car, she noted, not without interest.

He headed towards their old favoured coffee shop near Abby's old apartment. About halfway into the quiet drive, Abby noticed that a car was following them. A small blue hatchback had been tailing them from the hotel. She pointed this out to McGee.

McGee glanced unconcernedly in his rear-view mirror and sighed placidly. 'Yeah, that's Jane,' he said flatly.

Abby stared at McGee in credulity. 'Who's Jane?'

'My wife,' McGee replied.

Abby choked on a lungful of air. 'Your wife?' she spluttered. 'Why's she following us?'

McGee sighed and took a left, diverting from the route. 'Well, she's going to be my ex-wife soon, hopefully,' he explained meekly. 'She isn't taking the divorce very well.'

'So she's stalking you?'

McGee nodded. 'She thinks that I was going to prostitutes.' He laughed harshly. 'I guess that Gibbs was right after all.'

Abby frowned. 'What's that?'

'She was my co-worker.'

'Oh.' Abby twisted round in her seat. 'How are you going to get rid of her?'

McGee shrugged lamely. 'Keep going round in circles until she gets stuck behind a lorry or something,' he suggested.

Abby sighed. 'Not just now. You can't live your life being stalked by a crazy ex-wife!'

McGee did not reply. He seemed to have resigned himself to his fate. He had made his bed and it was only fair to lie in it.

'_Jane,' he implored. 'Please, believe me.'_

_She shook her head furiously. 'You cheated on me, you bastard!' she yelled hysterically. 'How could you do that to me?' She flung herself onto the sofa, wailing._

_McGee reached out a tentative hand to comfort her. 'We just aren't getting on very well anymore. I think that we would both benefit from a break from each other. It's only temporary.' What had started out as a demand for a divorce had turned into a soothing promise that he would get back together with her._

_She stiffened and jerked his hand off her shoulder. 'I loved you, Tim. I still love you.' Her voice rose to a howl. 'Why don't you love me anymore?'_

_McGee pulled her head into his chest, cradling her. 'I do love you,' he insisted gently. 'Of course, I love you. I'll always love you.' _

_Even as he said it, he was kicking himself. But Jane had tied a tight noose around his neck: one that he didn't know how to break free of. He had been trapped with her for eighteen years. No longer, he had decided three weeks ago. It had taken him three weeks to break the news to her and now he was backing down within seconds of politely requesting a separation._

_She wrapped her arms around him; clutching him to her as if she would never let go. 'Then why do you want to leave me?' she asked in a small, pathetic voice._

_McGee sighed and hesitated, choosing his words carefully. 'We argue all the time, Janie,' he reminded her. 'We don't make each other happy anymore.' _

_Jane squeezed a tear from her eye and it dribbled down her cheek. 'I don't make you happy anymore?' she whimpered._

'_You do,' he assured her. 'But...' He could not resist the temptation to finish with: 'and we haven't had sex in almost a year.'_

'_So you find sex somewhere else?' she interrupted angrily, sitting up. 'You go and sleep with whores and bring the STDs back to me, huh? You bastard! What do you take me for? Do you think I am so stupid that you can fool me? That I wouldn't find out?'_

_McGee shook his head, desperately refuting her accusations. 'I haven't slept with anyone else, Jane. I haven't slept you, I haven't slept with anyone since last Christmas when we forced ourselves to do it!'_

_She grabbed his shirt, pulling him towards her. 'What did I do to make you hate me so?'_

_He sighed. 'I don't hate you, Jane...' he began._

'_Then why won't you keep those promises you made to me on our wedding day?' She ran her hands across his chest seductively. 'Do you remember our wedding? How we were so happy?' She drew herself up. 'Why can't you remember that?'_

_He straightened up too, matching her forceful posture. 'Because, Jane, we haven't gone a day without shouting at each other for months. I can't live like this.' He stood up and made his way towards the stairs, heading for the front door. He hated the configuration of the house at times like these. Having the kitchen down in the basement took the edge of a dramatic storming out._

_She grabbed at his arm but he shrugged her off. 'I'm moving out,' he decided._

_Two days later, when he was starting on the packing, she joined him in the bedroom, sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed. 'I'll move out,' she whispered. 'This is your house; you bought it.'_

_McGee stood up and kissed her forehead. Perhaps things really would be different from now on. If she could accept that something was wrong, they had a better chance of fixing things._

_How wrong he was. As he realised a few days after she moved out, she had only offered to let him stay in the house so that she could be sure of knowing where he was, to make him easier to follow. They worked together as well, so she could easily follow him home from work. Her initial reaction that there had been other girls stuck with her and transformed her from a protective wife to a paranoid stalker. And it was all his fault._

Abby looked at McGee's saddened face. 'You don't have to live like this, McGee. You shouldn't let her ruin your life.'

McGee shook his head sadly. 'We were together for over twenty years, married for eighteen, nineteen this year. Another few months won't make a difference.' They stopped at a red light and he closed his eyes, blocking the world out for a blissful moment. 'I haven't got much to live for now, so letting this gamerun its course won't do me any harm.'

Abby stared at him in angry disbelief. 'Won't do you any harm? McGee! She is _stalking _you! Does that not set off alarm bells? She is _stalking _you!'

McGee sighed. 'Maybe you're right,' he conceded. 'But what do I do?'

There was a glint in his eye which he hadn't seen for twenty-five years. Jane had never had that glint. And Abby had never stalked him. Ah, what those feats had left for poor, old McGee.

'Leave that to me,' Abby said. She motioned for him to pull over to the kerb. Once the car had stopped, Abby hopped out and walked purposefully towards the car that had been following them. It had stopped when Jane saw McGee's hatchback pull over.

Jane climbed out as Abby approached and began yelling, practically foaming at the mouth; accusing Abby of being a 'dirty whore,' a 'husband-stealing bitch' and a 'fucking psychopath.' Abby laughed these labels off and shot back a couple at McGee's soon-to-be-ex-wife. Hopefully soon-to-be-ex-wife, Abby corrected herself.

Watching from the car, McGee saw Jane stop screaming and listen to what Abby was saying. The monologue Abby was giving went on for quite a long time. Then, finally, Jane nodded and got back into her car and drove in the opposite direction. McGee's mouth fell open. Abby sauntered back to McGee's car and the gobsmacked McGee inside it.

'How did you do that?'

Abby shrugged.

'No, I mean it. How did you do that?' McGee repeated.

There was melancholy in Abby's smile as she replied: 'I told her my love story.'

McGee frowned. 'Our love story?' he asked.

Abby snorted, not unkindly. 'No, McGee. _My _love story. From after NCIS.'

McGee looked at her curiously. 'And what is that love story?' he pressed.

Abby shook her head. 'Another time, McGee, another time.' She buckled her seatbelt. 'So, how about that dinner?'

**McGee's being stalked. Dun dun dun! I don't know why I do these stupid little summaries at the end of chapter as if you hadn't been following. I will try to restrain myself in future. I think I will do an Abby chapter next.**


	8. Poison

**Sorry that I didn't update yesterday but I figured that I updated two long chapters the day before so I don't feel as guilty as I would otherwise.**

McGee seemed lighter during the dinner, Abby thought as she stared up the ceiling of her hotel room. He lost his grumpy persona and opened up. It was as if a weight had been lifted from him. Abby squinted, mentally comparing the younger, thinner, jollier McGee with the older, plumper, sober McGee. She came to the conclusion that, although she much preferred the McGee she had been so close to so many years ago, she was glad that they had gone out to dinner and reconnected.

They hadn't really spoken much about what had happened in the twenty-five years that they had not spoken. There was still a chasm between them which had not been closed. Abby did not know where McGee lived, where he worked or who he was friends with now. The conversation had remained staid in general, airy topics such as music and films.

Abby wished that she could open up to McGee but she didn't want to push him away before she had even managed to pull him close. There was a taboo hanging over her which McGee may not be able to get past. And, anyway, Abby wasn't available.

The trill of her phone in her bag dredged the gloom and forced her to resurface. She grimaced when she saw the number. Her face became duller and more jaded as the man on the other end talked monotonously. It was as if her face was being painted over with a vat of industrial grey paint, her chalk white features smeared with thick gloop.

The man stopped talking at last and paused, expecting Abby to pitch in. 'I know that I am not allowed out of the state for anything less than an emergency,' she said quietly. 'And I will return within the week.' She sighed. 'Thank the Judge for me. I owe him.'

The phone dropped heavily to the carpeted floor from her limp hand. Any spark which had been ignited when with McGee had been instantly extinguished. She sat up and rubbed her forehead. She needed alcohol.

She walked out of the hotel door, pulling the flaps of her coat together to shield her from the vicious wind. Glancing both ways down the street, she spotted a dimly lit bar across the road. She trotted towards it, her eyelids heavy, and paused outside to take stock of the building she was about to enter.

Bland walls, punctuated with peeling posters advertising long gone circuses and movies which had come out on DVD months ago. A single grimy window, curtained with bottle-green polyester, allowed her to peer inside. It was fairly full, though there were bare patches dotted about the cramped room. Most of the punters were balding or life-weary, their faces lined with sorrows. She was about to move away and push open the door but a solitary figure, hunched over the bar as if he would be better suited to Notre Dame, caught her eye. He had familiar caramel-brown hair.

She set her mouth in a straight line, reserving judgement on Tony nursing a beer before it was even seven o'clock in the evening since she was about to do the same thing, and walked in to join him on the empty stool beside her old friend.

Tony glanced up as she heaved herself up next to him. 'Abby,' he greeted drily, downing the remainder of his glass. 'What do you want?' he asked grimly.

Abby considered the choice of poisons. 'Bourbon,' she requested.

Tony raised one eyebrow but nodded at the bartender and repeated her order, adding another beer for himself.

They drank in silence, finishing their respective drinks before Tony ordered another two of the same.

'I thought that I'd see Ziva in here before you turned up,' Tony remarked flatly.

Abby frowned. 'Why? What's wrong with Ziva?'

Tony blinked slowly. 'You seemed the cheeriest down in the basement,' he said, not replying to Abby's question since he didn't know the answer himself.

Abby sighed and shrugged. She couldn't work out whether Tony actually gave a shit or whether he was just blowing air through his mouth. In any case, she didn't want to answer.

Tony reached the bottom of his third glass since Abby entered. 'Another,' he called, his words slurring slightly.

'How many have you had?'

Tony turned to Abby and shrugged, his shoulders out of time with each other.

Abby rolled her eyes. 'Maybe you should stop,' she suggested helpfully.

Tony shook his head and stood up, swigging down half of his new glass. He had moved onto whisky by that point. Rocking the boat a little bit. He tapped his pocket and pulled out his black cigarette lighter, moving towards the front door.

Through the grimy window, Abby could see him light up his cigarette and stand, lone on the pavement grey, puffing away his life. His lungs were already fucked up from the plague, she noted despondently. Smoking could only serve to increase the fucked-upness of them.

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and returned to his drink.

Abby watched him plough his way through a succession of drinks. 'How often do you do this?'

Tony did not reply at once but finished his hi-ball of bourbon. 'What do you mean?'

'How often do you go to a bar and just drink and drink until you pass out?'

Tony shrugged. It wasn't as if he set out each night intent on waking up the next morning on his living room floor, still dressed in the same crumpled clothes that he had set out for work in the morning before, and with his stomach churning and lurching. He did not have a penchant for starting each day with the base of the toilet bowl spinning beneath him. It just happened like that.

**More to come on Abby next chapter... This one was shorter than the others but I think that they are going to stop being so long because I don't have another exam for ten days which means that I can start having a life again. I will try and update every day though with the chapters at least 1000 words long. I will just try not to go too far over that. I do have two stories on the go, remember.**


	9. Save The Whales

Tony lurched forward and almost skewered his forehead on the sharp corner of the reception desk.

'Careful,' Abby scolded, guiding him towards the stairs. With Abby's firm help, Tony made it to the first floor landing before tripping.

'Fuck.'

Abby rolled her eyes at his filthy tongue and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him roughly to his feet. Tony stumbled down the corridor, running his hands along the wall. Abby pulled him back as he went straight past his room.

She opened the door using his key before throwing it onto the bedside table, her aim surprisingly accurate. She pushed him gently towards the bed, too tired to tuck him in and sing him a lullaby.

He turned to face her. 'Thank you, Abby,' he said, slurring each word. He rubbed his eyes and smiled goofily. 'Nobody's ever...helped me before.' He swallowed and closed his eyes, his slapstick smile stuck onto his face. 'Usually they just...shout at me and...tell me to move...on.' He sniffed and looked at her proudly.

She smiled ruefully and backed out of the door. 'Good night, Tony,' she said firmly.

'Night,' he replied, taking a step backwards and falling over.

Abby pulled the door shut with a quiet click. She leaned on the door for a second, breathing in relief, before heading towards her own room.

On an impulse, she knocked on McGee's door. She had made a point of asking him where his room was during dinner; not with the purpose of calling in on him but merely to spite the snooty receptionist.

There was no answer so she continued despondently towards her own room. She did not stumble. Despite her initial plan of drinking away her troubles, she had ended up fussing around Tony as he threw back shot after shot and glass after glass of all different kinds of alcohol. At least he liked to mix it up, she reasoned. Gibbs had always just drunk one type of drink. Tony was more adventurous. Although, she added rationally, Gibbs had never drunk himself into a stupor.

The stories that Tony had burbled in between drinks had stunned Abby. When he had first started relaying his drunken exploits, she had expected them to consist mostly of fraternity style binges on the hunt for sex and a good time.

Instead, Tony had relayed depressing accounts of stumbling lonely through Philadelphian streets, heading home on his own with a bloody eye from an ill-fated bar fight. Pissing in bins on the corners of streets because he couldn't quite remember where the nearest public toilet was and no taxi would pick him up to get him home faster. Waking up with his head throbbing and his stomach lurching with no soiled condom on his floor. Dragging his miserable ass into work to get through the day with no enjoyment before heading off to a different bar – the one from the previous night rarely took him back – to repeat the cycle.

Abby reached her door and unlocked it quickly, not fumbling with the keys due to her dry, sober state. She pushed it open and stopped short. Standing by the window was...McGee. His back was to her and he didn't seem to have heard her come in.

'McGee.' Her voice was flat and void of surprise or curiosity.

He started, turning sharply and almost tripping over. She raised one black, perfectly tweezed eyebrow. He grinned sheepishly. 'Sorry,' he muttered. 'I got bored in my room.'

She didn't comment on her room being equally dull and sat down on the bed, eyeing him interestedly. He came and plonked his fat ass next to her, making her petite frame bounce on the spongy mattress.

'Your probation officer called,' he said nervously, his chunky fingers fidgeting in his lap. 'Three times, actually.'

She sighed, wondering how to play this. She had always been a fan of truthfulness and honesty but her candour had wavered in recent years. Her hatred of court rooms had intensified as well although the reasons for her dislike had changed. The frumpy, uptight dress code did not bother her anymore and the tedium had ceased to push her almost the point of being suicidal. Instead, it was the memories and consequences that it reminded her of that she detested so virally.

McGee looked at her sidelong. 'Why do you have a probation officer?'

Abby sighed once more. 'I got arrested,' she replied shortly.

McGee's mouth twitched. 'I guessed that,' he shot back. 'What for?' His short-lived confidence died. 'If you don't mind me asking, of course,' he added politely.

Abby looked at him, judging his mood. She longed to tell someone. Her philosophy about secrets gnawing away at you was still a fervently held belief but she was also reluctant to cripple a once strong friendship. McGee's face was placid and the trust which she had once laid ceremoniously on him resurfaced.

'_Hey, Abby!'_

_Abby spun round, the grin already in place before she saw him. He loped towards her, his shoulder length brown hair flapping up and down in time with his body. He reached her and enveloped her in a tight hug._

_He pulled at his loose green T-shirt proudly, bringing her attention to its bold slogan. __**SAVE THE WHALES. **__He held out an identical one, pushing it at Abby. 'I brought you one. Put it on.'_

_Abby grinned and pulled it over her head. She twirled for him, laughing with him. 'What do you think?'_

_He pulled her into him and kissed her before replying. 'Passable.'_

_She grinned and leaned in for one more kiss before pulling away. 'We're going to be late,' she scolded._

_He grinned. 'That's why I keep you, Abby. Someone has to keep me on time.'_

_She punched his arm lightly. 'You keep me because you...' She stopped. She had been about to say: 'love me,' but, since he hadn't said that to her yet, despite almost a year of them sleeping together, she caught herself just in time. He hadn't even called her his girlfriend yet._

_But, Abby was patient and she was willing to wait for him to get his head straight enough to commit to her. It was only a matter of time as she assured herself nightly._

'_Billy,' another woman called, rushing over. Billy spun round and grinned broadly, leaning in and kissing the woman's cheek. She slapped him away and thrust a couple of placards reading the same as their T-shirts._

_Billy took them. 'Thanks,' he smiled, kissing her cheek, moving a little closer to her mouth this time. She blushed and hurried away, throwing him glances over her shoulder._

_Abby forced a smile, determined not to be overly possessive or jealous. She was a free, fun-loving girl who didn't need to be tied down to a man. Why should she care if other women looked at him? She didn't. Not even when he kissed them just as he had kissed her that morning before he left. She didn't care._

_He handed the placards to her and moved away, shouting over his shoulder to her without turning round. 'Put them in the back of the van and take them to the end of West Roosevelt Street. I'll meet you there.'_

_She nodded, guessing that he would be travelling with someone else even though he had not told her. Ah well, she sighed. That was the way Billy worked. Who was she to try and change him?_

_An hour later, she saw him swaggering towards her. She stood up and pulled the placards from the back of the van._

'_You got here on time,' she noted. With five minutes to spare, the devil on her shoulder added sourly. Abby ignored him._

_Billy grinned and ruffled her poker straight hair. She forced a smile, despite the hour that she had spent that morning getting it perfect for the march. He wasn't to know how long she had agonised over it. He was just being affectionate, wasn't he?_

_She handed him a placard and they walked towards the group gathering, all wearing the same T-shirts as them._

_Billy moved off to walk with his buddies at the front, shouting and waving the placards more aggressively than the rest. Abby kept where she could see him; in case he needed her, not because of any suspicious jealousy. She trusted him. All the same..._

_Her friend appeared beside her and grabbed Abby's arm. 'I haven't seen you in ages,' she cried._

_Abby smiled weakly. 'I know. I'm sorry. But Billy...'_

_Her friend's sunny face darkened, her smile overcast. 'What about Billy?' she snapped. 'I don't know why you stay with him, Abby. You could find someone much better than him. You've had better people before him and you could find someone easily if you just dumped him.' Her face contorted bitterly. 'In fact, you don't even need to dump him. Because you aren't even together.'_

_Abby shook her head. 'It isn't like that,' she assured her friend vehemently. 'Billy is a good guy. You don't even know him. If you just got to know him...'_

_She was cut off by urgent shouts and screams. People began to run away from whatever was going on; not wanting to be associated with any trouble. Abby's breath caught in her throat as she was the scene in front of her. Driven only by her blind love for Billy, she ran forward to help him. That was where everything went severely wrong for her._

**I'll continue with Abby tomorrow. This whole story would go so much faster if there was only one character's back story to focus on but I have five characters and Gibbs's death to get through so bear with me. If anyone has any ideas on how Gibbs died, I would appreciate any help as I'm kinda stuck right now. I have the backbone of an idea but I need to bones to fill it out. Please?**


	10. You're So Sweet, McGee

**Just to warn you – I've been overdosing on The Wire so I may have gone overboard with the police brutality in this chapter.**

**People expressed a desire to at least clean up a backstory so I hope that Abby's is at least almost explained fully. I will still leave some bits to come later but this is the bulk of it. **

_Abby reached Billy in a matter of seconds as the crowd had dispersed the second that the 'incident' had begun._

_Billy was lying on the floor with two cops tasing him, taking it in turns to shock him. Abby let out an angry howl as she pushed one of the cops away from her boyfriend, grabbing the taser out of his hand._

_The other turned to her, his jaw set and his eyes fiery. Abby, however, was just as virile. Her eyes flashed as her fist lashed out, catching the policeman in the eye. He stumbled back, clutching his face. Blood streamed through his fingers and Abby stopped short in shock. She looked down at her hand in horror. She was still clutching her taser in her hand. A sharp edge had caught his eye and had caused unknown damage._

_Her mouth fell open and she stepped backwards. The first cop that she had 'attacked' had scrambled to his feet and was cursing her with a flaming fury. Acting purely to protect herself, she swung her other fist. Due to her height, she caught his jaw with a sickening crack._

_He let out an animalistic roar and launched himself at her. She was felled by his superior stature and found herself vulnerable on the ground. His boot was kicked into her stomach, forcefully and repeatedly. She curled up to protect herself and covered her face with her hands._

_One kick moved further north, slamming into her nose. Blood streamed onto the road; creating a small waterfall of dark red liquid which pooled beneath her pale face._

_Just as suddenly as the backlash began, it stopped. Frightened, Abby opened one eye and saw Billy throw himself on top of the policeman whom he had presumably just pulled down._

_Abby crawled away, pressing her hand to her nose. She reached the far pavement and leant against a shop wall, watching Billy batter the policeman._

_Other cops swarmed in, appearing from different arteries off the main road. Abby shouted out to alert Billy but either he didn't hear or he didn't heed her warning because he continued to lay into the helpless copper._

_They wrestled him to the ground, each one pulling out a taser. Abby screamed and scrambled to her feet to run over and save him. She entered the mêlée with her fists flailing wildly._

_Seconds later, she was tased and lying powerless next to Billy at the mercy of the policemen. They indulged in a few more kicks before flipping them onto their stomachs and cuffing them._

_The rest of the day passed in a fog of confusion and pain but Abby distinctly remembered her first night in a jail cell._

_Billy was in the adjacent one and, reaching their hands through the bars, they could just about touch fingertips._

'_Thank you, Abby,' he whispered. 'I love you.'_

_Despite her hopeless situation, a grin broke out on Abby's face. In hindsight, she was glad that he couldn't see it because he would have teased her mercilessly and ruined the moment._

_As it was, she was free to reply with the exact same words. 'I love you.'_

Abby turned to McGee, feeling that an appropriate response was necessary after staring into mid-air for so long. 'Assaulting a police officer,' she replied shortly. 'Six years ago.'

McGee's mouth fell open. 'You…you…assaulted a…Abby…' he stuttered.

Abby placed her hands on her knees, moving her face closer to his. 'They attacked us first,' she defended.

'I believe you, Abby,' he replied sincerely. 'You would never hurt anyone without a reason.'

Abby smiled weakly and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. 'Thank you, McGee,' she whispered.

He nodded. 'Did you…?'

Abby took her hands off his knees. 'I was released on terms of bail,' she told him. 'I can't leave the state without permission from a Judge for another year.' She grinned. 'Luckily, I have a friend in the legal department of Phoenix police department.'

McGee smiled warmly. 'You have friends everywhere, Abby.'

She swallowed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. 'You're so sweet, McGee,' she murmured. She leaned in to kiss his cheek again but he turned his face at the same time and she caught his mouth.

Instead of pulling away and laughing awkwardly, she kept her lips pressed to his. He opened his mouth and let her slip her tongue in. Sparks flew and, if it had been a graphic created by either of the two computers geniuses, fireworks would have exploded in all their glory behind the electrifying couple. Their mouths danced together until, finally, they ran out of collective breath and had to pull away.

They stared at each other, unsure how to proceed after that unplanned act. The mutual attraction was evident but neither had ever voiced the magnetism since they had first stopped seeing each other almost thirty years previously.

Affection left to fester for three decades inevitably grew stronger, especially when coupled with the push factors of obsessive ex-wives and incarcerated boyfriends. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Abby made an executive decision for both of them by leaning in one more time for the kill. The embrace lasted longer this time; with both participants in the embrace seeing it coming and taking a breath.

McGee was the first to pull away. 'I'm married,' he said flatly.

Abby knitted her brows. 'I thought you were divorced,' she replied slowly.

He shook his head honestly. 'We aren't divorced yet.' He sighed sorrowfully. 'I have to sort things out with her first. This isn't fair.'

Abby nodded. 'I understand.' Truthfully, she was almost glad that he needed some time to sort things out. It would give her time to talk to Billy.

_She thanked the prison guard and walked over to the table where Billy was waiting. She kissed his cheek affectionately before sitting down opposite him. _

_Seeing him after two months of staying away was difficult. She had established a routine of going every weekend to see him but then her psychiatrist had suggested that she try to limit her visits. She had somehow survived the two months devoid from his sustaining presence but, now that she was reminded of how handsome and mesmerising he was, she made a note to cancel her appointments with that woman from then on._

'_How are you?' she asked, her voice laced with concern._

_He shrugged. 'I get by, you know,' he replied. 'I made a few friends, stay out of the way of the bad guys. I don't want to get into trouble, see.'_

_If she had not been so drunk on his charisma, she would have remarked on the unpunctuality of that resolution. If he had not been a regular in fights, he would have – most probably at least – been out and living with her, a free man, after three years. Now he was stuck in his cell for another four years._

_She nodded. 'You want to get parole as soon as possible,' she agreed, not realising the irony in her words._

_He held out his hands for her to take. 'Will you still be waiting for me?' he asked._

_She laughed and placed her petite hands in his calloused ones. 'Of course,' she replied. 'I'll always be waiting.'_

'_I love you, Abby,' he said._

_She smiled and repeated the words back to him. 'I love you, Billy. I always will.' She stood up and moved round the table, sitting down on his lap and kissing him. 'Always,' she whispered in between kisses. 'Always.'_

_Twenty minutes later, a bell went and Abby had to leave. She stopped in the doorway and watched him disappear back into the belly of the prison. That was his life now and would be for the rest of his sentence._

_He had previous convictions; juvenile delinquency, trespassing, theft, assault, to name a few. Abby had none; in fact, she had a spotless record improved by many dedicated years as a renowned scientist at a federal agency. She had proved herself to be contrite for injuring the policeman whereas Billy had laughed and spat at the men when they appeared on the witness stand. That was the only difference between freedom and entrapment._

_As she turned to leave the prison, she repeated her promise to him, which had become a ritual between them during her visits. 'I'll always be waiting,' she whispered to the empty air._

McGee patted Abby's shoulder. 'I think I had better get back to my room now,' he excused, a red flush creeping up from his neck to cover his cheeks.

Abby started and nodded. 'Yes, well, I'll be seeing you later,' she replied.

He hovered, perhaps wondering whether a kiss on the cheek would be appropriate. After all, they had not written off their kiss, they had just put any further development of a relationship on hold until he had sorted out his baggage. Eventually, he decided to go for it and bent over to kiss her cheek.

She accepted it stiffly, keeping her eyes fixed on the stained curtain. He murmured a goodnight before closing the door behind him.

Abby sat upright, as still as a professional human statue, before flopping backwards and closing her eyes. Sleep took a long time to descend and, when it did, it was restless and nightmarish.

**It's the 10****th**** chapter so I thought that I would give you a glimpse of the other side of this depression and moodiness. Moving towards the happier part of their lives, after I've tied up their post-NCIS stories.**

**This story is moving quite slowly, though, which I apologise for. Ten chapters for one evening. Perhaps I should go back to updating twice a day to press forward faster, or do longer chapters? This chapter is quite long, though, by my standards at least.**


	11. Good Work, Abbs

**Gibbs's death story begins...now. I have to thank TiVa WaS AlWaYs MeAnt 2 Be for the idea of Gibbs's death. It was all her/him.**

Jimmy appeared in the Days Inn breakfast room with smudged rings around his bloodshot eyes and unbrushed hair sticking up at all angles. He looked around the small room and frowned. Ziva was sitting in the corner, at a table for two, and Abby was munching on a croissant with three empty seats around her on the other side of the room.

Since he still hated Ziva, he headed for Abby's table, taking a seat opposite her.

'Breena blames me,' he said despondently as he sat down. 'And she's right.'

Abby wavered for a second between agreeing and consoling him. In the end, her deeply buried good nature came out and she patted his arm. 'She's not right, Jimmy. You did nothing wrong. Some person wants to blackmail you using your kids. What did you do to deserve that?'

Jimmy sighed, his eyes welling up with tears. 'Oh, I'm sure I've done things to deserve that but they haven't. They're just kids; they haven't hurt anything.' He dissolved into a sobbing wreck, burying his face in his arms. 'Why would someone take innocent kids?'

Abby shushed him in what she hoped was a comforting manner. The company she had been keeping since her departure from NCIS had not been the kind that you worried about or consoled. Hard men with hard reputations to keep up did not want some girl's sympathy. She was out of practise with the whole there-there thing that she used to be so good at.

'He doesn't want to hurt them, though, right? He needs them for leverage, not to fulfil some sadistic desire.' She swallowed, lowering her eyes respectfully. 'Not like the guy who...killed...Gibbs.'

Jimmy looked up. 'Thanks Abby,' he whispered, large tears still rolling gluttonously down his stained cheeks.

He had spent the whole evening comforting his ex-wife and accepting the blame for the loss of their children. She had been too distraught to look after Georgia, their only remaining free child, so he had consoled a hysterical toddler as well. Of course, the three year old didn't understand that her siblings had gone, possibly forever, but any child senses when her mother is wailing and screaming and sobbing and yelling. And Jimmy had been left with the pieces of a broken family.

He needed Gibbs's old team to care about Arthur and Poppy's plight. He knew that they possessed compassion; he had seen it in them with so many of their cases with Gibbs. He was pretty sure that Gibbs had a rule against getting personally involved in a case, Rule 10, or something. Jimmy tried to pay as much attention as possible but Gibbs's intimidating presence always distracted Jimmy.

'I really appreciate you being here, Abby. I can't find them without you.' He looked up. 'Where is everyone?'

Abby shrugged. 'Still sleeping, I guess.'

Jimmy's eyes flashed in a way that Abby didn't think was possible from the submissive ME. 'Don't they understand that two children, two innocent lives are at risk? Two kids could _die _and they are sleeping? Who are they?'

Abby laid a hand on Jimmy's shoulder. 'They do care,' she assured him. 'It's just...I'm sure that NCIS are doing all they can...We are really just the back-up crew.'

Jimmy visibly deflated. He had pinned all his hopes on a group of life-weary people. 'You would have given everything up to find them when Gibbs was still alive,' he muttered. 'Did his death really change you that much?'

Abby lowered her eyes to hide the tears which automatically sprung into her eyes whenever he was mentioned. Because Gibbs, her beloved rock, was dead and she could never speak to him again, never feel his reluctant arms around her, never hear his gruff 'What've you got, Abbs?' again.

He was gone. In one instant, taken from all of them. The life snuffed out of him. And she could never get over the way it happened. It was sickening.

_Gibbs came up behind Abby and walked round to squint at the screen on her wall. She moved next to him, their shoulders brushing together._

'_So,' Gibbs said, nodding towards the picture of a white, scrawny guy with a severe case of acne. 'This is our guy?'_

'_This,' she told him theatrically, 'is Sidney Latimer, 39 years old.'_

_Gibbs screwed up his eyes even more and shifted closer to the screen. 'What did he get arrested for?'_

_Abby pursed her lips. 'Murder,' she revealed. 'He killed a man six years ago.' She raised her eyebrows. 'The victim insulted his mother. You know, how people say 'so's your mum' to everything nowadays...'_

_Gibbs looked blankly at her and Abby sighed._

'_You really need to keep up with the times, come out of your basement more often.'_

_Gibbs looked at her expectantly, waiting for her to return to the point. _

_She complied, knowing that nothing she said would change Gibbs's diehard habits. 'Anyway, that's what this guy said to Sidney here and Sid killed him for it.' She frowned. 'Very protective of his mum, obviously. But, then, they say that most boys are. Were you a mummy's boy, Gibbs?'_

_Gibbs turned to her. 'Why is he out already?'_

_Abby walked back round to her computer and clicked on her mouse for a second. 'He pleaded guilty to manslaughter and got ten years.' She sighed and her face clouded over. 'He was released due to overcrowding. That's so awful, Gibbs. They just let murderers out on the street with no punishment. We go to all the trouble of catching them and then...'_

_Gibbs kissed her forehead. 'Good work, Abs.' Then he was gone. The last time she ever saw him. And she didn't even say goodbye._

Ziva munched on a piece of toast, her eyes glazing over. She had circles, similar to Jimmy's dark rings, around her eyes. She hadn't got much sleep the last night. Seeing the old team again had brought back memories which were hard, almost impossible, to stifle. The last few hours of Gibbs's life were replayed over and over in her mind.

Her stomach twisted every time his face appeared in front of her eyes. He was dead. And it was all her fault.

Oh, of course she knew that everyone blamed themselves. It was natural. But it hadn't been Abby's fault and it hadn't been McGee's fault and it certainly hadn't been Tony's fault whatever he insisted: no, it was truly her fault.

Nobody else was to blame. What if's kept running through her mind. If only she had...If only she hadn't...If this had happened Gibbs would still be alive...If that hadn't happened Gibbs would still be alive...If Gibbs was still alive they would still be together and Ziva's heart wouldn't have a gaping hole in it. They would be happy, together as a team. Like they had been. Not like now.

**Tony and McGee next time. I had to leave Tony out of this chapter because, I swear, writing in a character who smokes just makes me crave cigarettes. If he comes into every chapter, I'm going to become a chain smoker. Perhaps if I get him to quit, I'll quit. Mmmm...unlikely. But, since he had bad lungs, though, perhaps it would be in the interests of the story, as well as my health, to get him to quit?**


	12. Norman Bates

**Sorry for not updating. I can't quite remember how long it has been but it's been a while. I have now resumed all regular updating. I actually enjoy writing this more than my other story but I feel more obligated to the other one as it has been going for almost 50 chapters. From now on, however, I will update both stories every day.**

Tony lay on his bed, the ceiling spinning above him. He had definitely had too much to drink the night before. A wedge had been driven into his skull, right behind his ear, and the chasm was sawing away at the bone.

His phone – the one used for undercover FBI work which Ziva had 'found' in her handbag – had woken him up at eight. He hadn't answered. He knew who it was; Joey would never be awake at that time in the morning, and Ziva had had the opportunity to copy the number into her own phone.

He blinked and the ceiling paused in its steady rotation for a second. Taking advantage of his momentary control, he rolled onto his stomach. The wedge was replaced with a drill, screwing its way into the depths of his brain.

He closed his eyes and lay still, trying to calm his shifting stomach. He swallowed slowly and sighed. The hangovers got worse with age, evidently. He should have taken advantage of his youth. All those years more or less sober at NCIS were wasted. He nothing to show for them, anyway, so it would not have made a difference if he had been out drinking every night.

His stomach lurched upwards and he opened his mouth, spewing the remnants of his lunch onto the newly hoovered carpet. He didn't bother trying to make it to the bathroom; he was well practised at bleaching carpets to cover up acidic stains. He groaned quietly, awash with self-pity.

He corrected his earlier thought. He _did _have something to show for all those years at NCIS. A dead boss. A stellar legacy.

'_You know, Ziva. You look more attractive when your mouth is shut,' he remarked across the No Man's Land between their desks._

_Ziva narrowed her eyes and closed the gap between her lips, leaning forward to read through her paperwork for the twenty-first time. Gibbs was insistent that it was word perfect and nothing they had handed in so far had met that standard._

_Tony sighed and leaned back in his chair, linking his fingers behind his head._

'_DiNozzo,' Gibbs barked. 'Finished your paperwork?'_

_Tony jerked upright and grabbed his pen, poising it over the paper. 'Hey, Boss. I was just –'_

_Gibbs sat down behind his desk and lowered his head, not listening to Tony. Bullpen banter had been put on hold for this particular case, Tony remembered._

_Gibbs dropped his pen and stood up. 'What have you found?' he demanded, walking round to the black plasma screen._

_Tony hopped out of his seat. Investigating was more interesting than rewriting paperwork for the twenty-fifth time and, since Gibbs expected them to do both, he had opted for pretending to do the paperwork and actually doing the investigating. Therefore, he had managed to find a possible lead._

'_His mum was killed a year before Bates went to prison,' Tony announced. His hand felt naked; McGee would have managed to come up with something to show Gibbs on the screen whereas Gibbs was still staring at the blank, black rectangle._

_Ziva sat up, frowning. 'I thought that he was called Sidney Latimer.'_

_Tony rolled his eyes. 'He is. Norman Bates is the killer from Psycho.' Ziva raised her eyebrows and looked vacant. 'The Alfred Hitchcock film...Janet Leigh...Anthony Perkins...' He sighed. 'We still have a lot of movie ground to cover, I see.'_

'_And, let me guess, you want to be my mentor?' Ziva asked, twirling a strand of hair round her pinkie finger._

_Tony grinned lewdly. 'If you want me to –'_

'_Was the killer ever found?' Gibbs interrupted._

_Tony frowned. 'Well, yeah. It was Norman Bates. Haven't you ever seen Psycho, Gibbs?'_

'_The mother's killer,' Gibbs barked through gritted teeth._

_Tony turned back to the blank screen. 'Yeah. This is the best part.' He paused to create suspense but, seeing the look on Gibbs's face, continued hurriedly. 'His mother was killed in a shootout with NCIS agents.' Tony pursed his lips. 'Not quite like Bates but still –'_

_Gibbs stood still for a moment. All eyes were on him as he just stood there. Then, suddenly, he snapped and spun round to grab his gun from his drawer. And then he was gone – disappeared towards the elevator._

_Tony heard the 'ding' of the elevator doors opening and hesitated for a second, considering chasing his boss down the stairs and going with him. Gibbs would most probably send him back, if he did, though. His eyes shifted south to look at Ziva and he grinned at her and sat down behind his desk to catch up on the paperwork before Gibbs got back from his mystery excursion._

_He never returned._

_The last time they ever spoke to him; Tony made a joke and Ziva was flirting with Tony. The last time they ever saw him; he didn't even say goodbye._

If he had gone with Gibbs, chased him, he might have been able to save him. He might still be working at NCIS, wasting his life but not destroying it at the same time.

Gibbs would be retired, living in Mexico with Franks, building boats to his heart's content and marrying and divorcing women annually. Happy in growing old. Instead of rotting in a shop-bought coffin beneath the soil.

Ziva would be sitting opposite him, throwing him coy glances every so often, and he would never ignore her calls or close his bedroom door on her. McGee would be a healthy size, his eyes square from staring at the computer screen and a photo of his wedding day on his desk: Abby smiling beside him, framed by a varnished wood frame.

Everyone would be content and companionable, not drawing away from each other, each word guarded and unfeeling. He felt the animosity in the air, even if he didn't particularly care. He didn't care; it was just a fact. All this hate and misery was his fault. If Gibbs was still reachable by a plane or a phone, things would not have deteriorated to the point of impassiveness, bordering on abhorration.

Tony groaned. He could rid himself of the alcohol in his blood, could blow out the plume of acrid cigarette smoke, could send the prostitute away from his motel room, but he could never shake off the all-consuming guilt that plagued him.

**Like I said, I will update tomorrow. And Gibbs will actually die in either the next chapter or the one after, probably tomorrow's update.**


	13. Elflord

**I promised you an update…and here one is. Thanks for the reviews, by the way. I was worried that people would have run out of interest in this story due to the long hiatus.**

McGee arrived in the basement at the right time. He was ready to help Jimmy. He was still feeling alienated from Tony and Ziva but he was already closer to Abby which had radically improved his mood. He smiled across the table at Jimmy; a watery grimace with no feeling. He was indifferent to the Medical Examiner. They had crossed paths once since the team had disbanded following Gibbs's death and they had not felt the need to rekindle their never-existent relationship.

Gibbs. McGee sighed. Despite the lack of sawdust, it still felt like Gibbs's basement. Gibbs: dead because of McGee's failures. He had never been able to shake that guilt, gnawing away at him; throughout his single days, throughout his marriage, throughout his separation, it had never gone away. It never would. He dropped his face into his hands, hiding his expression from Jimmy.

_McGee groaned and stretched his neck out. On Gibbs's orders, he had been sitting in his car, watching a house for almost fourteen hours now. According to Tony, though, it was not much better back at the office with Gibbs on the warpath for word perfect paperwork and ground breaking investigating._

_There was a knock on the driver's window and McGee sat up in shock, twisting round to see who was interrupting his surveillance operation. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the devil himself: Gibbs._

_He wound down his window and smiled weakly at his boss, hoping that the sugary frosting from his jam doughnut was not still plastered around his mouth._

'_He's not coming back,' Gibbs told him shortly._

_McGee frowned. 'But –'_

'_He's not coming back,' Gibbs repeated, 'because he's outside the old NCIS building.'_

_McGee deepened his frown. 'Why would he be there?'_

_Gibbs stared at McGee, raising his eyebrows in impatience. McGee realised that Gibbs was waiting for the driver's seat to be vacated and he clambered out of the car, brushing the doughnut crumbs off his lap onto the pavement._

_Gibbs climbed into the driver's seat and nodded towards the passenger side door. McGee ran round and slipped in beside Gibbs. Almost before the door had clicked shut, the car was streaking down the street towards the old NCIS building._

'_So, was that night completely wasted?' McGee asked, clutching at the edges of his seat in fright._

'_Nothing is wasted, Elflord,' Gibbs replied curtly, and they fell into silence._

_They skidded to a halt outside the building and they both hopped out and jogged towards the door. They entered; McGee cautious, Gibbs running without concern; and made their way methodically through the rooms._

_McGee peered into the bullpen-equivalent and whistled softly, thankful that he had not been an Agent twenty odd years ago. He crossed over to the window and surveyed the view. It was more sombre than the view across Washington D.C. He was looking out across a military graveyard, rows and rows of white stone rectangles poking out from the soil, directly above decomposing corpses._

_He heard a shout, cut off before it had fully formed, instantly recognisable as his boss's voice. Spinning round, he charged in the vague direction of the sickening sound. Pausing in the doorway, looking out onto the empty street, he heard the screech of tyres. A black car shot out from the side of building, the black butt of a gun protruding from the back window._

_A shot ran out, and McGee ducked behind the stone wall of the entrance porch. Grabbing his own gun from its holster, he aimed, squinted, bit his lip and pulled the trigger. He emptied the chamber into the air, each bullet missing the car zooming away from him with Gibbs inside, relying on McGee's steady hand and nerves._

_And McGee had failed him._

Abby paused as she saw McGee sitting at the boat-building table. With each step she took, she was dissecting her options. She could sit beside him in a decisive act against her incarcerated boyfriend, Billy. Alternatively, she could sit beside Ziva at the other end of the table, a sign of her loyalty to Billy, at least until she had discoursed with him. She chose the stool next to Ziva.

Jimmy looked up as her stool scraped against the floor and he narrowed his eyes, counting the present ex-agents. Tony had not yet arrived, despite Abby's coming almost an hour late. He had specifically asked them to come at 10.00 but, apparently, sleeping in was more important than two missing children.

He might as well press on without the former Senior Field Agent, though, he reasoned. Then he sighed. He couldn't let his own antipathy for Tony get in the way of finding his children.

'Does anyone know Tony's number?' he asked, forcing the words through gritted teeth. He got no reply but Ziva's cheeks reddened. 'Ziva?' he prompted.

Her flush deepened but she nodded and brought out her phone, dialling the number she had copied from Tony's phone when she had 'accidently' knocked it off the table into her handbag and 'forgotten' to return it immediately.

Tony grunted at the shrill ringing of his phone. He sat up and squinted at the screen. It definitely wasn't Joey's number, which left Ziva as the only viable culprit to having stirred him from his restless slumber. Or bat-nap, as she would call it. He smiled sourly at the memory of Ziva's idiomatic mistakes.

He really didn't want to return to Gibbs's basement. The memories were too much. It had been left to him to pack up Gibbs's belongings and just being in that kitchen brought back memories of his crying fit on those tiles.

He forced himself to answer, telling himself that anything was better than lying in bed, clutching his stomach and drowning in self-pity. He hung up without speaking; only offering a noncommittal grunt to Ziva's demand for him to come to the basement. He sat still for a few seconds, weighing up his options, but then he stood up and trudged into the bathroom.

**Gibbs will die in the next update, I promise. And then I'll move onto other things. Like why Jimmy hates Tony and Ziva, and where Ziva's husband is, and some Tiva. No story of mine will be complete without some Tiva.**


	14. We've Found A Body

Tony placed his hand on the polished door knob and, after a moment's hesitation, turned it. It opened easily and he walked in, his whole body sickeningly tense. Moving into the kitchen, the alien possessions cluttering the hallway were replaced with the familiar belongings of his beloved boss. He blinked, his eyes welling over with tears, and the vivid, ghostly objects morphed back into the very real unknown possessions of the living owner.

He paused in the kitchen doorway, staring at the floor. The tiles were identical to the ones on which he had broken down in a sobbing mess while supposed to be calmly clearing out Gibbs's things. Like all things to do with Gibbs, he had failed in the simple task.

His eyes flickered towards the boxy TV sitting on the sideboard. That sight – the iconic object of Gibbs's death – twisted his stomach. He fell back and leant heavily on the wall. Closing his eyes, he could hear McGee's hysterical voice shouting over the crackling phone line.

'_He's got Gibbs! They've driven off with him! Tony! I'm so sorry!'_

_Tony struggled to stay in control of the situation. Without Gibbs, he was now the lead on the investigation. He had to save Gibbs and, to do that; he needed to keep a logical, distanced perspective._

'_Where are you?'_

_There was a pause before McGee spoke again: 'They went east from the old NCIS building.'_

_Tony's breath caught in his chest. He was completely out of his depth. Gibbs had obviously known something about the case which he had refrained from sharing. And now Gibbs was gone._

'_We're coming,' Tony assured McGee, hanging up._

_He spun round and found Ziva directly behind him, just like old times._

'_What's happened?' she demanded._

'_Bates has got Gibbs,' he replied tersely._

_Ziva's eyebrows shot up and her mouth fell open. 'Wha–?' she stammered._

_Ziva drove to the building, and they were skidding up outside within minutes. The front bumper tapped the back of McGee's car, but, as they noticed while running past, the tyres were slashed anyway._

_They found McGee in a back room, staring at a small patch of fresh blood. Tony patted his friend's shoulder. 'It isn't your fault,' he said simply._

_McGee looked up. 'I missed them, I tried to shoot at them but I missed them, if I'd hit them, Gibbs would be here still,' he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth._

'_Even Ziva wouldn't be able to hit a speeding car, Elflord' Tony replied._

_McGee looked utterly miserable. 'That was the last thing he said to me,' he mumbled. 'He called me Elflord.'_

_Tony smiled sadly and spun round, jumping into business. 'What do we know?'_

_Ziva twisted her fingers in front of her stomach. 'Sidney Latimer's mother was killed by an NCIS agent in a shootout. She was an innocent bystander. That was seven years ago. A year later, he went to prison for murder. He was sentenced to ten years but only served six of them. He killed three marines after he got out and now he's got Gibbs,' she recited._

_Tony sighed. 'We don't know much but Gibbs was onto something. He knew to come here.' He frowned. 'Why here? This wasn't the building six years ago. We worked at NCIS six years ago.'_

_Ziva walked up beside him. 'Maybe he remembers the incident. And something about that reminded him of some connection with this place.'_

'_Read up on the shootout,' Tony instructed quickly. Ziva nodded and hurried out of the room. Tony turned back to McGee, fighting not to look down at the blood stain which had captivated McGee's attention._

Tony swallowed and stood up, collecting his senses before going down the stairs to join the gathering in the basement. He was an FBI agent. A rogue one, it was true, but an agent of the state nonetheless. It was his duty to help Jimmy's children even if he didn't particularly want to. The faster they found them, he reasoned, the sooner that he could return home and attend the poker game.

He sat down as far away from Ziva as possible. As he pulled the stool closer to the table, he caught her eye. She was plaintive. He could see that she needed to talk to him about some unknown subject which was obviously eating her from the inside out. And he definitely wanted to speak to her. But, he knew that it would only end in tears. Her tears, to be exact. He was no good for anyone nowadays. That was reason that he spoon-fed himself, anyway.

But, he knew why he was really avoiding her. He couldn't look her in the eye anymore without seeing the look that had materialised right after Gibbs's death. He should have protected her from seeing that. He had already seen it; he knew how much it would hurt her but he had allowed her to walk past him regardless. Perhaps he didn't care at that point, was more concerned with his own grief than protecting her from a lifetime of guilt.

_Ziva stared at the picture on her computer screen. Her right hand fumbled for her desk phone, while her left hand covered her mouth. 'Tony,' she said not able to take her eyes off the picture. 'I think I know why Gibbs knew where to go.'_

'_Yeah?' he prompted impatiently._

_She blinked and looked once more at the picture of the agent responsible for the shooting. He had peppery white hair, leathery white skin and cold blue eyes. He was the spitting image of Gibbs. Not identical – obviously, this was not one of Tony's films with a secret twin – but similar enough to be instantly recognisable._

_Seeing Gibbs, Latimer must have been vividly reminded of his mother's killer. And, with the anger that he had bottled up inside and had proved was more than willing to unleash at the slightest provocation, he was not going to be gentle with their boss._

_She relayed this to Tony, who swore softly and thanked her. Then he hung up. Ziva tore her eyes off the picture and shut her computer down, hiding the potentially fatal photo beneath the black veil._

The smog of the rest of the day had been blocked from Tony's memory. He could not remember anything until that phone call from a patrol on the outskirts of Washington. Just hearing the voice replay in his mind constricted his breathing and knotted his stomach.

'_We've found a body.'_

Tony twisted round on his stool and attempted to lose a breakfast which had not yet been eaten. Acidic saliva dribbled off his chin and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. He was pathetic. When a ghoulish voice could force his stomach up through his throat, he needed to sort out his head.

'_We've found a body.'_

He had no idea how to even start on dealing with the pain of that day, though. Every night, he was able to build up a Moses-red-sea-style wall of alcohol between him and the banshee which had resided in his mind for twenty-five years.

'_We've found a body.'_

He turned back to the table and smiled weakly, hiding the inner turmoil from his ancient colleagues. He felt Ziva's keen eyes on him, though. He could never hide his true expression from her, and her penetrating gaze had not weakened with age.

He avoided meeting her stare and looked around the rest of the table instead. They all felt guilty, minus Jimmy perhaps, but only he carried a double burden. The guilt of Gibbs's death and the guilt of dumping more guilt on Ziva. She didn't deserve that, especially since she wasn't in anyway responsible.

'_We've found a body.'_

_Tony forced himself to speak. 'Does it match the description?' He closed his eyes and waited breathlessly for the answer._

'_I'm sorry.'_

'_Where?' he asked sharply. He had to see this for himself before he allowed himself to believe._

_He didn't jot down the address. He could never forget where Gibbs's body lay. If it was Gibbs, he corrected himself. There was no need to attend a funeral before the coffin was even filled._

_He shouted to McGee and, together, they sprinted to the car and screeched through the streets, driving for dear life towards a dead body._

_They leapt out of the car and ran into the drywall warehouse, passing the bored looking uniformed police officers. McGee reached the entrance first and hovered in the doorway, peering through the gloom at the shape in the middle of the building. Tony appeared by his side and, drawing a deep breath, passed his friend and walked towards the prostrate body._

_He squeezed his eyes tightly shut before looking down. Even in the dim light, he could make out its identity. It was Gibbs._

**Details come tomorrow. I don't **_**mean **_**to drag this out, it just happens. I will definitely update again tomorrow, though, so it won't be a long wait.**

**And, for all those people who are complaining about the depression (which is the whole point of the story, by the way) I thought I'd give you a little happiness. Tony CARES about the children. Or, at least, he's willing to help.**

**This story was meant to be more about finding Jimmy's kids and the flashbacks to their life after NCIS but it's turned into a Gibbs's death fiction. For these few chapters at least. I will get back to the point and do some Tiva. I promise. I seem to be making a lot of promises, though.**


	15. The Video Tape

Ziva kept her face down, but her eyes were boring into Tony's. The understanding built up over nine years of partnership was not so easily lost. She could see that he was reliving the nightmare of that night. She could see the orange tongues of fire burning somewhere deep in the black void of his pupils. He was torturing himself with his believed culpability. The misplaced remorse was twisting his mind and rotting his life away, drowning it in the alcoholic poison that she could smell on his breath, even across the table.

She longed to tell him that it wasn't his fault. She longed to sit across from him in Autopsy, two crystal glasses of whisky between them, in silent companionship. Instead, he was as far away as possible, avoiding catching her gaze. Whatever they had had all those years ago was dead.

When John T. Mullin developed the video tape, he could not have fathomed the damage it would do to a team's relationship: one life vanquished, three gnarled irrevocably. And all from that one ten minute long spool of black, magnetic tape.

_Ziva was leaning against the vending machine, the toe of her shoe dented from kicking the unforgiving metal, when she got Tony's call. In ten minutes, she was running towards the warehouse, the door of her car swinging open on battered hinges._

_She passed the gaggle of disinterested uniformed police officers and stopped in the doorway, staring at the scene. McGee was hunched in the corner on hands and knees, one hand resting on the wall. Behind him, on the floor, was a shadow about the length of a horizontal cadaver. Tony stood a distance away, peering at a flickering screen._

_Steadying her jumping heart, she walked slowly inside, heading towards Gibbs. At the sight, she crumpled to the floor beside him. She hid her head in her chest, shielding the tears streaming down her face from sight. Tentatively, she reached out a hand and touched Gibbs's arm. Theoretically, it was no different from the bodies that they were around every day as a living. It killed her. His skin was just as cold as every other corpse. His muscles were just as tense as every other corpse. To all intents and purposes, he was just the same as every other corpse._

_Her body was slowly decaying from the inside out. She could feel her sanity seeping out through the pores on her nose. It wasn't the same as every other corpse. No other corpse had been Gibbs._

_She raised her eyes and appraised the body, trying to force herself to view it as just another body. His body seemed intact enough; it was only his neck that was damaged. His throat was bloody and there was a rough hole punched into the skin, tearing through the bones and muscle beneath the leathery skin._

_She stood up and looked over at McGee, who tensed and retched. She smiled empathetically at his back before crossing slowly over to Tony. As she approached, the quiet thud of her shoes on the stone caused him to look up. He paused, his eyes widening in horror and then confusion. And then he stood up and moved away, sending the TV screen one last, lingering look._

_Ziva bent over, mirroring the position that Tony had been in. A video tape was protruding from the video player. Biting her lip nervously, she pushed it in with her index finger. It was swallowed up and, after a stomach churning grinding noise, the screen guttered into life._

_The initial white noise disappeared and an instantly recognisable face appeared, the nose pressed right up against the screen. Sidney Latimer. She recoiled slightly, hating this man with a passion that ran deeper than any hatred she had felt before._

_Sidney moved away from the screen and Ziva could see Gibbs. Her mouth opened and a fragile gasp escaped and floated delicately through the air. He was bound to a chair, the cloth gagging his mouth spotted with blood from his cut lips. He was moving, however, and Ziva's squeezed her eyes tightly shut, willing the cadaver on the floor behind her to move. _

_She could only see Latimer's back now but the glare from a flat metal object was reflecting onto the camera lens. A knife. Ziva clenched her fists, directing all her anger through her veins and into those two balled up hands. Latimer took a tiny step towards the struggling Gibbs but he was still close enough for Ziva to hear his voice clearly through the speakers on top of the black TV box._

'_I'm not going to kill you,' he said, his rasping voice driving a stake through Ziva's vampiric heart. 'No. I will make you suffer, just as I was made to.'_

_Even though his face was disfigured by the tightly wound cloth around his mouth, Ziva could see the terror those words instilled in Gibbs. She lowered her eyes, not daring to watch. She guessed that her boss had worn that expression all those years ago when Ari, her half-brother, had threatened to make Gibbs suffer._

'_I think that I will start with the foreign girl,' Latimer continued, and Ziva's eyes jerked back up to the picture. It had the same effect on Gibbs. In spite of his bondage, he attempted vainly to shake his head._

_Latimer chuckled softly, the quiet sound sending poison tipped spears into Ziva's body. She bit down on her tongue to stop herself from shouting out to the two-dimensional, blurry projection of Gibbs. Latimer moved out of the limited scope shown by the camera and appeared again by the table directly in front of Gibbs. He stepped towards Gibbs's shoulder, bent over and saying something into Gibbs's ear. From the distance, Ziva could not make out the words._

_Latimer walked back towards the camera and adjusted it, focussing it more on Gibbs. He straightened up again and flinched._

'_Have to piss,' he muttered, just loud enough for the camera to pick up on it. 'I'll be back,' he told Gibbs, walking towards the door._

_The second that the door closed behind Latimer, Gibbs tensed visibly. Sensing that something was about to happen, Ziva bent closer to the screen, her chest constricting. Suddenly, Gibbs jerked forward and the chair tipped. Gibbs's legs were not tied up so he could have stopped himself from falling but, as Ziva well knew, he meant to fall._

_His neck skewered on the corner of the table and his body hovered there for a sickening second before rolling sideways and crashing to the ground. He twitched once but then he went limp: dead._

_Ziva stared at the motionless form of Gibbs for a moment before her chest constricted again and her stomach lurched. She twisted around and copied McGee. She turned back to the screen. There was nothing else happening to draw her gaze away from Gibbs and she just stared at it, feeling dreadfully guilty and helpless, and a single tear slipped down her cheek, barren compared the easy flow when she first saw him but the emotion behind it was a tsunami now that she had seen Gibbs end his own life to save her._

_The few minutes before Latimer returned felt like an age. Hell froze over ten times before she heard the startled cry slipping from his lips. Despite everything, she felt a pang of satisfaction that Gibbs had, yet again, thwarted the plans of a psychotic killer._

_Latimer stood still for a second, much like the reaction of Ziva. Then, in a concerted effort, he burst into life; rushing to Gibbs's side and cutting him free of the chair. He glanced around them room once before running out, forgetting the video tape, much to his demise. And Ziva's peace of mind._

Ziva blinked. In reliving it, she had slumped off her stool and was curled up on the floor, retching. Tony was by her side, hand on shoulder, attempting to comfort her with meaningless platitudes. She looked up at him and all the bromides died on his lips. He simply pulled her into a hug.

**That's all the happiness that you are getting for now. And, since we have finally put Gibbs to rest, we can get back to their post-NCIS lives.**


	16. Ducky

**Ach, sorry for not updating sooner. I implied at the beginning of this story that I would aim for daily updates but, as I only have one exam left so my leash is slackened, I am regaining my life so I have less time. Therefore, it is with no remorse that I am rejecting that promise and renewing it with: I will update when I can, as regularly as possible.**

Tony helped Ziva back onto her stool and sat beside her, stroking her hand. She looked up at him, her worn face streaked with tears. Her eyes were pleading him to take away the burden of guilt which she had been bearing on her back for twenty-five years. How he longed to do what she asked. But it was impossible. What was done was done.

Eventually, she spoke and broke the torturous silence echoing round the basement. 'Sorry,' she muttered.

Tony shook his head. 'Don't be.' He didn't finish the sentence. There was no need. Everyone knew how it continued.

She nodded and smiled sadly, the pathetic grin not stretching to her dull eyes.

Tony squeezed her hand and leant his face closer to hers confidentially. The other parties at the table respectfully averted their eyes, although their ears remained pricked.

'What happened to –' He paused, struggling to choke out the name. '–Gibbs. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't anybody's fault but Bates's.'

She leaned closer still, moving her head so that her lips were closer to his cheek than his ear. 'Latimer's,' she corrected softly.

He smiled, genuinely this time. 'You have to let it go.'

Again, she nodded. And, after a slight hesitation, pressed her lips briefly to his cheek. At the touch of her lips, it flamed, the flush shooting across the weathered skin up to his forehead. She stroked his red cheek with her forefinger, running it down to his set jaw. Then, her hand dropped into her lap, and she pulled away from his body, sitting straight on the stool. Slightly disappointed, he drew back as well, and they turned to face forward.

Jimmy had watched the exchange with cold eyes. Perhaps this 'healing' process was a necessity to them returning to their old investigative prowess but, to him, it merely seemed like something else slowing down the process of rescuing his defenceless children.

Coughing pointedly, he stood up and waited for their full attention. Slowly, they turned to face him. He scratched his cheek nervously. Their gazes were hostile, and he was not a naturally confident speaker. But this was for his children, he reminded himself. If they could set aside their differences, he should probably air his grievances before it hindered the search for his beloved children.

'I didn't want to ask you to come here,' he announced bluntly.

It had the desired effect; they all stared at him, abandoning the distractions and focussing on him.

'You obviously don't care about two innocent children facing a preventable death and you are not the same people that sat in that orange room flashing through cases effortlessly.'

Eight eyes were fixed on him, narrowed and with a hint of anger.

He continued, regardless of the enmity: 'If my children hadn't been in grave danger, I would never have called you.' He looked directly at Tony and Ziva, who had the grace to flinch slightly. 'I hate you and I will never be able to forgive you.'

Tony stood up, knocking his stool to the floor with a dull crash. 'Hey!' he protested vehemently. 'You have no idea what was going on in _our _lives at that time! We could have had a very good legitimate reason.'

Jimmy raised one eyebrow sceptically. After a noticeable pause, Ziva jumped to her feet, joining Tony in protesting their innocence.

'Don't judge us until you know what was going on in our heads at the time,' she told him sharply.

Jimmy met their gaze evenly, refusing to give up ground. For eight years he had been certain of his hatred. He was not about to drop eight years of harbouring a venomous rage.

'He was dying. Lying there, completely helpless. But every time that he saw me, his eyes lit up and he could relive his happier times.' Jimmy swallowed a lump in his throat. 'Abby and McGee only came once but even that one, short visit made him the happiest person in that lifeless building.'

Ziva lowered her eyes to the floor, but it was clear that she was not feeling guilty. A single tear dribbled off the point of her chin onto the flagstones, but it was not shed for Ducky.

'He was always there for you!' Jimmy shouted, losing his temper. 'But when he needed you most, you couldn't be bothered to come and visit him! You're selfish! Selfish bastards!'

Tony set his jaw squarely and looked Jimmy in the eyes, slightly taken aback by the fire raging in those watery pupils. 'I was undercover,' he said simply.

Jimmy shook his head furiously. 'That's no excuse! He was in that care home for three years! All he needed was an hour of your time!'

Tony shook his head. 'If I'd gone, he would have been more concerned than pleased. I was a mess.'

Jimmy was still not accepting that argument. 'If you'd cared, you would have been able to take a bath and be sober for one afternoon.'

'It's not as easy as that,' Tony muttered.

It was slightly remorseful, Jimmy noted. Perhaps this was the older Tony's version of an apology. Gibbs had drilled into his team the weakness of apologising. Jimmy had never agreed with that lesson and he doubted that Ducky had agreed with Gibbs's opinion in that particular instance.

'What about the funeral?' Jimmy demanded.

Tony lowered his eyes. 'I was undercover,' he repeated. 'In prison. I couldn't just up and leave.'

Jimmy was speechless with anger. He refused to accept such a feeble excuse, especially _sans _apology. He shifted his gaze to face Ziva, who was still staring at the floor. 'What's your pathetic excuse?' he spat.

She tilted her head sideways as she raised it, avoiding everyone's eyes to stare markedly at the wall painted with a glossy coat of mildew.

'I should have visited,' she conceded. 'But I was in a different care home.'

Before that confession, everyone, excepting Jimmy, had been eyeing her listlessly. Now, they were all staring at her in concern.

'My husband...' she faltered. Tony moved slightly closer to her, and she drew up her chest, summoning her almost depleted reserve of energy. 'My husband was dying as well, and I didn't like to leave him for a day to visit Ducky.' Her face visibly contracted but no more tears dripped lamely down her face. 'I was going to come to Ducky's funeral – I was, honestly – but he recessed the week before and I really couldn't leave him.'

Jimmy's anger dissipated and he was instead filled with guilt. He had hated with such passion a woman who had been in a worse situation than him. Ducky had been a great friend and mentor but the bond between spouses ran deeper.

Tony winced as he gently touched Ziva's shoulder. 'Is he –?' he began shakily.

She spun round and buried her face in his chest at those words. 'He died two years ago,' she whispered hoarsely.

He nodded and rubbed circles on her back with his thumb. 'I'm sorry,' he muttered.

**Any requests for anything specific to happen? After a couple more ideas that I would like to explore, I am kind of running out. In particular, is there anything that I have already brought up that you would like me to develop further; Tony's drinking, for instance?**


End file.
